“I’ll get dressed. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. 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. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation.
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This video was uploaded to fairlopwaters.info on 09-06-2024 05:17:00
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