She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. Why not? Quite willing. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre.
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