She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. ‘I told her you couldn’t have been flirting, but she wouldn’t believe me. You won't often see white folks. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. ” “I am rebuked,” she declared. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind.
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