Brendon. ‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. I'll wait for you down here. Then she looked up at Brendon.
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