My, um, my curfew. Anna sprang lightly away across the street. The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. 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. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. ‘Don’t concern yourself. If you have enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review – it does help so much. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. “We banished his experiments to here in the basement from then on.
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