‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. Tell me about your island. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. This isn't your island, child; it's the great world. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. He heard the door close; and in a little while he fell into a doze; and there came a dream filled with broken pictures, each one of which the girl dominated. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure.
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