Explore "Wyndham's Pal" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Red reflections trembled on the sea, a fringe of languid surf broke along the beach, and as the liner turned a point, a white town that rose in terraces, glimmered like a pearl. A yellow flag ran up to the masthead, the throb of engines slowed, and a noisy launch steamed out from behind the mole. Marston, leaning on the rail, watched her approach, and his look was thoughtful when he turned to Wyndham.
"If Don Ramon got our telegram, he's probably on board," he said. "I hope he is, because if he doesn't come it might imply he means to make things difficult for us. He could if he liked."