Thus the shadow of her hands screened any
emotion--if emotion there were--on her face.
"I have not been happy here, all the time," she answered softly,
readjusting the glass, or pretending to. "Not by any means.
San Ramon to me is a hole. . . . Yes," she went on deliberately,
"I know well what you are going to say. I have _you_: but I want
something more--something I have always wanted and, it seems to me,
every woman always wants--something beyond the sky-line. In Sydney,
now--"
"You'll find there's a sky-line waiting for you at Sydney," said
Farrell; "as like to this one as two peas--and just as impossible to
get beyond"--which mayn't seem very good grammar, but is how he said
it. "Now to me a sky-line's a sky-line--just something to have you
standing against."
"You shall have a kiss for that, _caballero_--in a moment," she
purred, and slanted the binoculars down to bear on the beach. "Only
one passenger," she announced.
"Usual inspector, no doubt," said Farrell, rolling a cigarette.
"Ye-es--by the look of him. . . . Oh, there's Ylario, all right,
talking to the boatman! .
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