‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. The coconut plantation covered the west side. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. ’ ‘Well, I am glad he did not,’ intervened Lucilla, forestalling another withering comment from the captain. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. .
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