"How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. They were the same. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. We have to hang about in the interval. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. A species of vertigo seized him. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head.
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