Something about the girl had suggested an idea. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. 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. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. “I should make sure that he doesn’t try to drive himself home.
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