He could not make good his hold. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. 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. "Rowland," she rejoined, "you strive in vain to terrify me into compliance with your wishes. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. It took my breath away. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. Horrible doubts assailed her.
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This video was uploaded to motorsport-fotografie.info on 08-06-2024 05:16:42
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