The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. 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. She mentally resolved to do her best to avoid personal encounters with him in that instant. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. Cathy Beck was outraged. She kissed him on the bridge of his nose.
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