"Oh gracious! he's lost. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. ’ ‘I also said, if you remember, that I could not promise not to do so. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. . . 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. Then I came to London and tried almost everything—all failures. “Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. " Himself. ’ She inclined her head, looking up at him through her lashes, and passing a tongue lightly over her lips.
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