"Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. 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. Why, he can scarcely be twenty. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. And yet—I love you. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all of them. Getting back the ice was rather a serious affair.
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