“I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. "Not proud in the least, I declare. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. A forgotten island beyond the ship lanes, where that grim Hand would falter and move blindly in its search for him! From what he had read, there wouldn't be much to do; and in the idle hours he could write. ” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind.
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