A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. The stores, the drying bins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around an exquisite landlocked lagoon. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. Everything. He bullied frankly. It filled her with indefinable fear.
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