Anna had told me that he carried always with him this bogus marriage certificate. Marvel, who, as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived.
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