‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. Me, you may have. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. It was, in a way, something of a joke to the doctor: psychology and physiognomy on an island which white folks did not visit more than three or four times a year, only then when they had to. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 19-09-2024 20:14:32
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