She decided to call in the help of Teddy Widgett,
or, failing him, of one of his sisters. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing
her eyes. “They never seem so at first!” he said. 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 bit her lip and thought deeply. ’ He glanced at the captain. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure
to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. She tried for
her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own
ears. Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment.
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This video was uploaded to golfrealestateonline.com on 05-07-2024 16:34:26