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. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. Go away!” “Why kill this one, Lucia? She shall be missed. Go to her. The Oriental has no equivalent. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. . ” Anna stepped to the foot of the bed. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times.
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