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. I have healed and I am still your wife!\" She looked at him desperately, his eyes illuminated by firelight. "Never mind," replied the tapstress. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. She began to feel odd sensations while peering busily at his shoulder and profile. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home.
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