
At Port Arthur, Ensign Harcourt Lowther watched convict gardeners and resented heat, drought, duty, and a cigar that would not draw. If I were a burglar transported here, fortune could scarcely have arranged less glory. You step into this one-chapter preview with Francis Tredethlyn at the center, where choices turn on the people, promises, and pressure already in the room. The clod remained where the officer had left him, but the chapter had begun asking which man was truly confined. The chapter closes on a continuation question rather than resolving the novel's larger arc.
Read Only a Clod