While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. " He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed him from the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of the bungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. “I’m not in the mood right this instant. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. I know there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress. But we get over it.
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