The wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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