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. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. Haven’t I ever told you about them?” Michelle asked. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. ’ Gerald grinned. You'll be wasting his time. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. "I cannot but approve the course you are about to take, Jack," said Thames, "though on some accounts I regret it. This, then, must be the person whom he had seen spring upon the western platform at the time of the collision between the boats.
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