And then he found himself being kissed by Mrs. Morris.
She kissed him thrice, with solemnity, with thankfulness, with
relief, as if in the act of kissing she transferred to him precious
and entirely incalculable treasures.
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
THE SPIRITED HONEYMOON
1
It was a little after sunrise one bright morning in September that
Benham came up on to the deck of the sturdy Austrian steamboat that
was churning its way with a sedulous deliberation from Spalato to
Cattaro, and lit himself a cigarette and seated himself upon a deck
chair. Save for a yawning Greek sailor busy with a mop the first-
class deck was empty.
Benham surveyed the haggard beauty of the Illyrian coast. The
mountains rose gaunt and enormous and barren to a jagged fantastic
silhouette against the sun; their almost vertical slopes still
plunged in blue shadow, broke only into a little cold green and
white edge of olive terraces and vegetation and houses before they
touched the clear blue water. An occasional church or a house
perched high upon some seemingly inaccessible ledge did but
accentuate the vast barrenness of the land.
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