The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. The Night-Cellar. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. ‘And so also have I. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure.
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