She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. I got a rusty bolt cutter. “No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about. His face was white. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination.
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