So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. "The natives have foolish ways of saying things. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. Take that box, and put it into the carriage yourself. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. But this plan (probably from its danger) was instantly abandoned; not, however, before her momentary hesitation had been taken advantage of by her pursuers, who, redoubling their efforts at this juncture, materially lessened the distance between them. There must be ways of getting rid of him.
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