CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. You are alone in the world, you have no one save yourself to consider. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. Eh bien, we shall see. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this.
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