One could enter and leave by proa, but nothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. ‘Pig! Pig, a thousand times!’ Running footsteps could be heard now, and she knew that the commotion was bringing the nuns, just as she had hoped. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils.
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