He had a wild impulse to shout. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Then the distant relationship to Miss Stanley gave them a slight but pleasant sense of proprietorship in the girl. A very small settlement, mostly natives. ‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles.
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