Beatrice Grimshaw

Beatrice Grimshaw

Summary

Portrait of Beatrice Grimshaw Beatrice Grimshaw The Sorceror's Stone (1914)

After that there was nothing any more, just the blue sea, and the burning sky, and the circling and hovering bronze sea-hawks, busy with their fishing again.
“Is it real?” asked the Marquis, his hands flat on the sand, supporting his huge body, his eyes staring, like the fixed eyes of a doll, out to the empty sea. “Flint, what shall a man say when he sees a thing like that? This is a devil of a country, where one may see twenty men encounter death out there at one’s eyes and sit and look as calm as this! My Flint, if I am mad, then you are it also, because you have no emotion no more than me.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Beatrice Grimshaw Beatrice Grimshaw The Sorceror's Stone (1914)

Tonight, they looked down upon the grave of poor, harmless, mind-bewildered Bobby-the-Clock; how soon, I wondered, and where, would they look down upon mine....
Diamond or no diamond, it came to me then that the stars and the bush and cruel, beautiful Papua, had got me for good. A man may make a fortune ten times over; but if he is not made of the clay that sticks to gold when it touches it, he will come back where he belongs in the end.
We slept that night as sound as Bobby-the-Clock himself, in his forest bed a dozen yards away.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Beatrice Grimshaw Beatrice Grimshaw The Sorceror's Stone (1914)

Sight and hearing are not the only senses that a bushman can use to good effect. I smelt, cautiously and without noise.
There was the marshy odor of the river behind the palms. There was the indescribable smell of a native village—dry, sun-baked earth, insanitary whiffs of decaying stuff, the hay-like odor of old thatch. And something more—the smell of cocoanut-oil warm and fresh, and very near.
I remembered that the Papuan always oils himself after bathing. I recollected having seen Mo in the river.
Very cautiously I stretched out and touched the Marquis’ hand.
Source: Gutenberg

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