"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!"
"A brick?"
He chuckled. “Mary Lucia. It was neither good nor bad. 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. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an
Englishman. CHAPTER XXII
Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own
natural buoyancy. They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist. You cannot
arrest yourself. I
got a rusty bolt cutter. She had changed into
dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. We’re closer than
you think. Gay," he added, turning to the poet. He would sit in his inner
office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly
conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with
her when he met her face to face.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 21-06-2024 13:05:31