Once, both Ruth and Spurlock accompanied McClintock far south, to an island of blacks; and Spurlock had his first experience with the coconut dance and the booming of wooden tom-toms. I had already won wars and sailed ships to distant lands by the time I was thirty. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed.
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