She would write to Gerald. Probably a sick man's whim. Do you know anything of his friends? Is there any one for whom we ought to send?” “I know very little of him beyond his name,” Anna answered. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. Two of these had been her particular intimates at the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the limits of the available literature at home. The stores, the drying bins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around an exquisite landlocked lagoon. ” “It is very nice of you to think of it,” Anna said briskly. Softly she rose to her feet.
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