His head was covered by a new Panama hat, and his narrow black tie,
half undone, dangled down on his rumpled shirt-front. His face, a livid
brown, with red blotches of anger and lips sunken in like an old man's,
was a lamentable ruin in the searching glare.
He was just behind Julia Hawes, and had one hand on her arm; but as he
left the gang-plank he freed himself, and moved a step or two away
from his companions. He had seen Charity at once, and his glance passed
slowly from her to Harney, whose arm was still about her. He stood
staring at them, and trying to master the senile quiver of his lips;
then he drew himself up with the tremulous majesty of drunkenness, and
stretched out his arm.
"You whore--you damn--bare-headed whore, you!" he enunciated slowly.
There was a scream of tipsy laughter from the party, and Charity
involuntarily put her hands to her head. She remembered that her hat had
fallen from her lap when she jumped up to leave the stand; and suddenly
she had a vision of herself, hatless, dishevelled, with a man's arm
about her, confronting that drunken crew, headed by her guardian's
pitiable figure.
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