’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. I took the usual way home. 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.
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