To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. In this way, more than a month passed over. You’re the only person I’ve really given good, straight, unselfish thought to. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. Sheppard was committed to the earth.
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