His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. Remember, some day you and I are going to have that book. This heroine ruled an island which (in the '80s) was rich with shell—pearl-shell; and she fought pearl thievers and marauding beachcombers, fought them with weapons and with woman's guile.
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