Gordon Young

“ His sister—there could be no doubt that she was his sister—had a wide-eyed trustfulness and wonder in her eyes. She was a blonde little thing, not yet in bloom; hipless and breastless. In the midst of dark robust maidens who bloomed rapidly she seemed pathetically immature, faded if not blighted ”

“ She's empty. That's the trouble. Her eagerness is hunger—for moths. She flamed up on the Heraldr's poop because there were some half-shaped devils that looked like men in the fo'c's'le. Always on the look out, Jake, to stir men up. All red an purple—like fire an' bruises. One o' these days her soul'll go up to God, an' God'll say——”
Brundage growled. The ineffable name on McGuire's lips made him uneasy. It was the only thing under heaven that could stir him from his remote, stony aspect; but McGuire's drunken tongue was at times enough to disquiet an atheist. ”

“ Later he did ask the consul about the bananas. He asked with exceeding timidity, feeling a little foolish as one does when suspicious of a question's good sense; then he felt surprise and some gratitude toward McGuire. In the heathen times women were put to death for eating bananas—and for eating many other things that men particularly liked. ”

“ McGuire flapped his thin arms up and down in pantomime. Brundage smoked on, his eyes looking away into the darkness.
“Bold as a woman who doesn't know she isn't pretty. Nothin' bolder, Jake. Always at the mast head—these danger-women. Always on the watch. Wantin' some man to make 'em love him. ”