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. "You read it, Ruth. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. Her greatest exploit was the howling before the mid-day meal. “Never was such an age of transition. ” He spoke a little nervously. Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her body began to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about the room. And, after all, a fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and rejoice and go on with life. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals.
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