His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. And for many years, that was the way it was. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. He thought it best to let the matter drop. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments.
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