’
‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. And how can I
get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find
on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you—
ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. 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.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 19-07-2024 16:22:24