She was clear there were no other minds like them in all the world. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls.
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