She was all in white--cap, canvas shoes, silk shirt absurdly lose at the throat, and linen coat with the sleeves turned far back so that her hands would not be enveloped.

The duck trousers were also taken up several reefs.
"Good morning," she said, and held out her hand.
He watched her smile wistfully, and then made a little gesture with his own hands, one burdened with the scrubbing brush and the other with the bucket.
"What does it mean ?" "Hell," said Harrigan.
"Explain." "It's McTee again, damn his eyes!" "Do you mean to say they've started to treat you as they did on the _Mary Rogers_?
The scrubbing and then the work in the fireroom ?" "Right." She stamped her foot in impotent fury.
"What manner of man is he, Dan?
He's not all brute; why does he treat you like this ?" The Irishman smiled.
She cried with increasing anger: "What can I do ?" "Make your skin yellow an' your hair gray an' walk with no spring in your step.

He wants to break me now because of you." There was moist pity in her eyes, yet they gleamed with excitement at the thought of this battle of the Titans for her sake.
"I will go to him," she said after a moment, "and tell him that you mean nothing to me.

Then he will stop." The cold, incurious eyes studied her without passion, and once more he smiled.
"He'll not stop.

Whether you like me or not, Kate, doesn't count.