Northwest of the Paumotas men talk of a vast atoll island half fabulous, half believed in. Ship masters have sighted a palm line by day reefless because, steer as they will, some sort of current has never allowed them to raise the reef and by night the pearling schooners have heard the breathing of a beach uncharted, and always on the sound a wind has followed blowing them away from the mysterious land.
Karolin—who knows?—the island of dreams, sealed by the soul of Le Moan to the civilization that the children of Lestrange and their child escaped from; a beach that the pleasant sunshine alone lights for me; where Aioma shapes his logs and where I watch, undisturbed by the noise of cities, the freshness we have lost and the light that comes alone through the Gates of Morning.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
- Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Retained other archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.