“I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see. 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. The Storm VII. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. “You’ve grown out of them. This isn’t the place. "Affairs are not normal in Canton at present. The roofs and gables of many of the houses had been torn off. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told.
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