’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. She felt him as something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. David left this afternoon.
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