Summary

Ralph Stock South of the Line — The Laugh (1922)

For once Mata failed to obey. She did not run, but walked, very slowly for her, down the veranda steps and along the beach, with the pearl necklet forgotten in her hand. Against the bole of a wind-bent palm she leant at last, staring over the sea. She was trying to understand. But out of her groping thoughts only the old, immutable truths emerged. This large man with the kindly eyes and tickling moustache was the most wonderful being in the world, the only being in the world. He knew everything and could do anything.
Source: Wikisource

Ralph Stock South of the Line — The Laugh (1922)

On the veranda, with his chair pushed back from the débris of breakfast, Crowther was engaged in the rather more protracted and infinitely less accommodating reflections of middle age. Mata was sixteen. Sixteen was a fairly advanced age for a child, wasn't it? And what was it that he had sworn to himself should occur on her sixteenth birthday—and on her fifteenth, and fourteenth, for the matter of that? He pretended that it was an effort to remember, though, as a fact the thing had hovered over him like a cloud for some time past.
Source: Wikisource

Ralph Stock South of the Line — The Laugh (1922)

It was a pretty little game for a grown man to be playing with himself, this juggling with an evil hour by putting back the clock. It is popular, too, but, like most games, it comes to an end. Mata was sixteen. Mata must go "outside."
Having decided so much, irrefutably this time, Crowther's musings led him back to the beginning of it all—that awful dawn ten years ago, when, on the tail end of a hurricane, a fine three-masted schooner loomed out of the murk to wind'ard, running under bare poles and head-on for Rahiti.
Source: Wikisource

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