He waved a hand toward the sea. "I'll run and bring him back. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. She wanted to come, and I wouldn't let her. " CHAPTER XI. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him.
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