“You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. You are very lovely, Ruth. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing. I’m right again now. " "I will, when I've had my revenge," muttered Jack.
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