" "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. From the white beach the palms ran in serried rows quarter of a mile inland, then began a jungle of bamboo, gum-tree, sandalwood, plantain, huge fern, and choking grasses. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. I can’t but feel it’s an undesirable complication to drag in the Charvills at this point. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony.
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