And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. “Bring any new songs you may have. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Anna watched her with curious eyes. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice.
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