Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. “A move of any sort would certainly be fatal. “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice.
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