It was his heart. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. It was the grand nursery of vice. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. ‘I want a word with you, my lad.
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