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“I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. ‘Sleeping like a baby, he is. I’ve had it, Sheila. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ” Lucy said, leading him upstairs behind her.
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