At times it was all I could do not to tear the bulrushes off her and beat her with the heads of them.

But I schooled myself to restraint, and handed her a rock to sit upon, and passed her her porridge on the end of a shovel with the calm politeness of a friend.
Our breakfast over, my more serious labours of the day began.

I busied myself with hauling rocks or boulders along the sand to build us a house against the rainy season.

With some tackle from the raft I had made myself a set of harness, by means of which I hitched myself to a boulder.

By getting Miss Croyden to beat me over the back with a stick, I found that I made fair progress.
But even as I worked thus for our common comfort, my mind was fiercely filled with the thought of Edith Croyden.