Not a word passed between them. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Perhaps I am still mad. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding.
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