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There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. You must live for me. I wish”—
she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have
quarrelled. After that time, I
shall place my setters on your heels. She tried not to pant, not
to reveal herself, and she began to shake. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a
single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured
elsewhere. She went to a dramatic agent,
and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. Probably some woman on the loose; they were
as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. 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. "This must be prevented," he added to himself.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 13-07-2024 02:55:32