He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. But it was the form of her ruling determination; it was the only form that she ever allowed to see daylight. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload.
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