Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. Later, when the Reverend Henry Dolby entered the Spurlock room, his wife and daughter trailing amusedly behind him, and beheld the strained eagerness on the two young faces, he smiled inwardly and indulgently. Relief flooded her. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload.
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