Her eyes were wide open with amazement. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. 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. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters.
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