To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. and Mrs. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. ‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once. ‘Word has it that she is English on her father’s side. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. She was going through a new world with him side by side. They did not have to wait long. Fire; she was full of it. There would be no mercy in this man.
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