Here is one verse. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. We aren’t worth it. 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. Annabel set her teeth hard, and turned fiercely towards Anna. There was a flash and a loud report. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “Impossible to say,” he answered. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. On your own. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity.
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