The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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