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He sat up till a late hour talking with them. The whole party then lay down in the "gunyio," or camp, with a few boughs or sheets of bark over their heads as their only covering, though most of them had bright fires burning at their feet outside. It was some time before Peach's busy brain would let him go to sleep. At last he went off, and began to snore.
'But what's his name? 'I don't like to tell you his name, for, though 'tis night, that covers all shame-facedness, my face is as hot as a 'Talian iron, I declare! Do you just feel it. Margery put her hand on Mrs. Peach's face, and, sure enough, hot it was. 'Does he come courting? she asked quickly. 'Well only in the way of business. He never comes unless lime is wanted in the neighbourhood.
This talk with old Mat, made Joseph still more determined to have nothing to do with Peach, however friendly he might seem. Joseph was glad to think that Mr Ramsay had settled to muster his stock in a few days, because he should know then better how many he had under his charge, and put a stop to Peach's tricks.
Peach's hand grasped the paper, which she read at once. 'What! is that true? she said, holding it out to Jim. Jim started and admitted that it was, beginning an elaborate explanation and apologies. But Mrs. Peach was thoroughly roused, and then overcome. 'He's married, he's married! she said, and swooned, or feigned to swoon, so that Jim was obliged to support her.
Her skin was a glossy brown, softened with a peach's bloom, warming through deepening shades of rose to lips that were so deeply colored no one noticed how firmly they could come together, how their curving, crimson edges could shut tight, straighten out, and become a line of forceful suggestions, of doggedness, maybe who knows? perhaps of obstinacy.
This was the first time they had come upon a lusty, apparently over-fed specimen, and they were at once filled with the joy of covetousness. Thick yellow curls, bright blue eyes, and cheeks that would have shamed the peach's bloom and a nearly completed row of tiny white teeth such was the Rousseau applicant at first glance.
Richard Vine had placed Margery in front of him, to protect her from the crowd, as he said, he himself surveying the scene over her bonnet. Margery would have been even more surprised than she was if she had known that Jim was not only aware of Mrs. Peach's presence, but also of her own, the treacherous Mr.
"Do sit at Lady Peach's table, like a dear boy," Cicely begged of Tony Luton, who had come in late; "she and Gerald Drowly have got together, in spite of all my efforts, and they are both so dull. Try and liven things up a bit." A loud barking sound, as of fur-seals calling across Arctic ice, came from another table, where Mrs.
Peach's own suggestion; so that what they said, how long they remained together, and how they parted, Margery knew not. She might have known some of these things by waiting; but the presence of Jim had bred in her heart a sudden disgust for the widow, and a general sense of discomfiture.
Standing on the wharf, smoking a cheroot, he leaned back upon his cane, studying the ship with a gaze that missed no detail. There was not a sound from the water; across the harbor Peach's Point seemed about to dissolve in a faint green haze; a strong scent of mingled spices came from the warehouses. There was the splash of oars in the Basin beyond, and the more distant peal of a church bell.
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