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. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed.
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