She was discovered by a crew of fishermen whom she had often
beaten down in the way of business. They brought her in from the remote
cove, with loud lamentations and much pride. She must have rocked back
and forth between the shore and the reef, for when they found her, her
body was badly battered. From the cliff above, they said, she looked at
first like a monstrous catch of seaweed on the sand Her hair--
Follet had treated himself to a three days' drinking-bout, and only
emerged, blanched and palsied, into a town filled with the clamor of her
funeral. Stires had shut up his junk-shop for a time and stayed strictly
at home. I went to see him, the day after they found her. His face was
drawn and gloomy, but it was the face of a man in his right mind. I
think his worst time was that hour after Follet had followed Ching Po
out of his warehouse. He never told me just how things had stood between
French Eva and him, but I am sure that he believed Ching Po at once, and
that, from the moment Ching Po spoke, it was all over. It was no longer
even real to him, so surely had his inborn prejudice worked. Stires was
no Pierre Loti.
In decency we had to mention her. There was a great to-do about it in
the town, and the tom-toms had mysteriously returned from the hillsides.
Pages:
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271