‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. The change in her face was not a pleasant one. 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. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad.
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