So the three crept together into one wet mass, and lay until
day came, shivering and dozing off, and continually re-awakened
to wretchedness by the coughing of the clerk.



Chapter 2. MORNING ON THE BEACH - THE THREE LETTERS

The clouds were all fled, the beauty of the tropic day was spread
upon Papeete; and the wall of breaking seas upon the reef, and
the palms upon the islet, already trembled in the heat. A French
man-of-war was going out, homeward bound; she lay in the
middle distance of the port, an ant heap for activity. In the
night a schooner had come in, and now lay far out, hard by the
passage; and the yellow flag, the emblem of pestilence, flew on
her. From up the coast, a long procession of canoes headed
round the point and towards the market, bright as a scarf with
the many-coloured clothing of the natives and the piles of fruit.
But not even the beauty and the welcome warmth of the
morning, not even these naval movements, so interesting to
sailors and to idlers, could engage the attention of the
outcasts. They were still cold at heart, their mouths sour from
the want of steep, their steps rambling from the lack of food;
and they strung like lame geese along the beach in a disheartened
silence. It was towards the town they moved; towards the town
whence smoke arose, where happier folk were breakfasting; and as
they went, their hungry eyes were upon all sides, but they were
only scouting for a meal.