The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. He did his best not to grin. And now YOU’RE on the war-path.
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