There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. “Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly. He leaned forward to better drink her in.
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