Chapter LVII

           

           ATthatmomentwewereinterruptedbytheappearanceofMadameCoutras,whohadbeenpayingvisits.Shecamein,likeashipinfullsail,animposingcreature,tallandstout,withanamplebustandanobesitygirthedinalarminglybystraight-frontedcorsets.Shehadaboldhookednoseandthreechins.Sheheldherselfupright.Shehadnotyieldedforaninstanttotheenervatingcharmofthetropics,butcontrariwisewasmoreactive,moreworldly,moredecidedthananyoneinatemperateclimewouldhavethoughtitpossibletobe.Shewasevidentlyacopioustalker,andnowpouredforthabreathlessstreamofanecdoteandcomment.Shemadetheconversationwehadjusthadseemfarawayandunreal.

           PresentlyDr.Coutrasturnedtome.

           "IstillhaveinmybureauthepicturethatStricklandgaveme,"hesaid."Wouldyouliketoseeit?"

           "Willingly."

           Wegotup,andheledmeontotheverandahwhichsurroundedhishouse.Wepausedtolookatthegayflowersthatriotedinhisgarden.

           "ForalongtimeIcouldnotgetoutofmyheadtherecollectionoftheextraordinarydecorationwithwhichStricklandhadcoveredthewallsofhishouse,"hesaidreflectively.

           Ihadbeenthinkingofit,too.ItseemedtomethathereStricklandhadfinallyputthewholeexpressionofhimself.Workingsilently,knowingthatitwashislastchance,Ifanciedthatherehemusthavesaidallthatheknewoflifeandallthathedivined.AndIfanciedthatperhapsherehehadatlastfoundpeace.

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