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The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. But I'll not believe it of you. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. Lucy looked about confusedly. ‘Yes, that is what the nuns they said of me.
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