He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. A very small settlement, mostly natives. They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. They moved fast. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them.
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