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 young plantations. He tried to tell her how in a way it had given him a queer sense of religious ecstasy.

It was almost dark now, and the fragrance of the garden on the outskirts of the Town filled the air.

Mary smiled suddenly. "You know," she said, "I don't think you really hated Africa at all. It wasn't Africa you hated. You loved it. And I don't think you mean to stay here all your life. Some day you'll be going back."

He left her in the shadows as the older of her children, a tow-headed girl of three, came down the path to meet her, calling out her name.

On returning to the slate-colored house, he opened the door to find Naomi awaiting him.

"Supper is ready," she said. "I sent Essie to the restaurant for it, so you wouldn't have to walk up there."

He thanked her, and she answered, "I thought you'd be tired after walking so long."

"Thank you. I did take a long walk. I wanted to get into the open country."

While they ate, sitting opposite each other, beneath the glow of the dome painted with wild-roses, he noticed that she was changed. She seemed nervous and uneasy: she kept pressing him to eat more. She was flushed and even smiled at him once or twice. He tried to answer the smile, but his face seemed made of lead. The effort gave him pain.

Suddenly he thought, "My God! She is trying to be nice to me!" And he was frightened without knowing why. It was almost as if, for a moment, the earth had opened and he saw beneath his feet a chasm, vague and horrible, and sinister. 