To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. Or at least he did the day before yesterday. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp.
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