“I confess it. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his dream. I’ve been smoking cigarettes in the preparation-room and thinking this out. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief.
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