“Does Mr. 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. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. He woke up with a start and the alarm clock read 4:46 P. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world.
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