A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. "One of us has got to die," he panted. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. And you promised to tell me.
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