Lucy sat beside him. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. ” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. You are you.
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