The place erupted into a chaos of argument and shouting. In the melee, Ivanhoe Grant melted away. The Reverend Kirk mounted the pulpit with the trudging step of a hod carrier and pleaded, “Let us pray.” But his voice was lost in the riot of other voices. He stood forlorn, staring out over his congregation, completely beyond him now, anger hard as a pill in his throat. He felt tricked. His sin was the sin of pride. He had deluded himself.

This, tonight, was not the trembling fervor of the Holy Ghost. This was the Other.

Alex Manly was so transfixed that the two Negro Pinkerton men had to shoulder him aside to get out the door. He didn’t even notice them. And they were in such a hurry to report to J. Allan Taylor, they didn’t recognize him.

Sam smelled like the tavern—Gray Ellen noticed it right away. It was in his clothes, in his hair—cigar smoke, stale beer, men. When he kissed her lightly on the cheek, though, there was no stink of whiskey. Thank God, she thought. But how many times could he say no? If he traveled with that Calabash creature very much longer, lingering in taverns and waterfront bars and gentlemen’s clubs, sooner or later he was going to give in.

One moment of weakness, that was all it took. How could a woman live twenty-four hours of every day in fear of a single moment that would happen out of her sight, out of her control, a moment that could ruin her life in a swallow? How could she rely on character when, time after time, she had watched character bend so easily?

Sam changed out of his linen suit, which was already looking frayed and overworn, then washed up using a pitcher and bowl. She watched him from behind, how his back flexed each time he lifted his arms to his face. Maybe each time he said no, he grew stronger—was that possible? She didn’t really believe it, but she had no choice. Maybe with men character was just habit.

She sat on the edge of the bed watching him. She was all mixed up. She wanted him to touch her without touching her. She wanted to hold him and stroke his hair and neck, bury her face in his strong shoulders and chest and feel his arms wrapping her in safe love.

She wanted him to understand what she was feeling, when she wasn’t sure herself. She wanted him to know exactly what he ought to do, though she had no idea what that was.