Explore "Life, the Interpreter" by Phyllis Bottome on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Is she not pure gold, my mistress?"
JIM looked at his uncle and said nothing. The two men were smoking on the piazza. It was late evening, the day before Major Huntly was to sail for England. He had just mentioned Gladys' engagement, and found that his nephew knew nothing about it. Jim grew rather white, and the two puffed steadily at their pipes again.