“I love your sister. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. “The truth!” It was a moment of awkwardness between the two sisters —a moment, too, charged with its own psychological interest, for there were secrets between them which for many months had made their intercourse a constrained and difficult thing. They moved fast. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine.
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