‘Come, cry a truce. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. ” He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading this last sentence. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. But that still left the forty pounds!.
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