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. “Will they worry about you getting caught in a storm?” She asked him as she viewed black clouds floating in different directions. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. Wood. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. For a time they walked in silence. And thus he effected his escape from the New Prison.
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