She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. Diable. Sixteen thousand! Mark me, young man, you'll pay it back through the nose, every dollar of it!" "I owe you nothing. ’ She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. It was so difficult to put precisely. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear.
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