To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. “No, I must have had hope lurking somewhere too. And some were adorned with engravings that struck her as being more vulgar and undesirable than anything she had ever seen in her life. I am certainly no ghost. In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna’s ear. The huge, newly remodeled brick house was crammed full of people reeking of beer, vodka, and tequila. His hands came up, his face broke apart.
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