Hogarth, and Mr. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. So long. She leaned forward and addressed him. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. 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. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. ‘Allow me. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts.
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