I loathe this room. They are their mother’s sons. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. “Great dears!” said Capes, as the vehicle passed out of sight. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. ” “Sounds interesting,” Ennison remarked.
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