CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. He found that the skiff had been dashed against one of the buttresses of the bridge. . ‘Alors, I see it. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed.
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