Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. Anna looked at her, startled. Not alone with her, that’s sure. The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. Her heartbeat quickened. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed.
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