Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. He was a stranger. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. The girl’s eyes never left his face. It was a dismal and depressing sight to see a great city thus suddenly overthrown; and the carpenter was deeply moved by the spectacle. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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