There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. ” He said, his voice tinged with worry. I think you’re wrong. 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. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things.
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