He made his way to the yam sacks lashed abaft the mizzenmast and got his bottle.

Just before he drank, with a shred of caution, he cast a glance behind him.
Near him stood a harmless Mary, middle-aged, fat, squat, asymmetrical, unlovely, a sucking child of two years astride her hip and taking nourishment.

Surely no harm was to be apprehended there.

Furthermore, she was patently a weaponless Mary, for she wore no stitch of clothing that otherwise might have concealed a weapon.

Over against the rail, ten feet to one side, stood Lerumie, smirking into the trade mirror he had just bought.
It was in the trade mirror that Lerumie saw Borckman bend to the yam-sacks, return to the erect, throw his head back, the mouth of the bottle glued to his lips, the bottom elevated skyward.