‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. Who was he?” “Intriguing. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. ” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. “He’s got good taste, you know.
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