It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. ” TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Typesetting and editing of the original book from which this e-text has been transcribed was inconsistent. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Finally she fell into reflection. 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. He might solve the riddle. Pitt returned with intelligence that the warrant was delayed, and, on taking the opinion of two eminent lawyers of the day, Sir William Thomson and Mr. Kneebone, he took his departure.
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