She shot a sudden glance at him. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. ” She stopped. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. ‘Odds were against it. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. She thought me— filthy. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace.
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