‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. Charvill’s fury was burning out. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising.
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