"To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him. He was unaware that his illness had opened the way to the inherent conscience and that the acquired had been temporarily blanketed, or that there was any ancient fanaticalism in his blood. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. "I've lost my wager. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop. Let me make your future for you. In these waters the shell has about given out.
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