Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. The young man looked at her. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. ’ ‘How do you do?’ Gerald said pleasantly, stepping from the pillared portico and coming down the shallow stairway.
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