Tiare — her father had called her by the name of the white, scented flower which, they tell you, if you have once smelt, will always draw you back to Tahiti in the end, however far you may have roamed — Tiare remembered Strickland very well.

Prickly plants of disappointment spring up in so many shapes! Yet some have flowers of sweet afterscent. […]

His clothes were still fresh and unrumpled.

Some sounds rasp the ear.