He had
offered money for a horse or even a wheel; but these were luxuries on
this bleak, poverty-ridden coast. As there was no alternative, Gerald
had walked rapidly since three o'clock. And he had not been told the
truth about the road; where the oozing, green, unwholesome waters were
not he stepped, sometimes sinking over his ankles in the soft mud. Not a
sign of humanity served him for comfort or compass. He had been assured
that if he kept his back to the sun he would reach his destination. And
he did, but not without many misgivings. It was the vision of a squat
tower-like building, almost hemmed in by a monster gas reservoir,
fantastic wooden galleries, and the gigantic silhouettes of strange
machinery, that relieved his mind. But this house and its surroundings
soon repelled him. His reception was the final disenchantment.
He played a lively tattoo with his blackthorn stick on the panels of the
door. For five minutes this continued, interspersed with occasional loud
calls for Karospina. At last the siege was raised. After preliminary
unboltings, unbarrings, and the rattling of the chain, Gerald saw before
him a middle-aged man with a smooth face and closely shaven head, who
quietly asked his name and business.
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