And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. Beyond that everything was nebulous. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. ’ ‘I have English a little,’ the girl offered, her voice shaking as she essayed a smile and sank into a curtsy. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. ‘Laisse-moi. “You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows.
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