Sheilah McLeod
by Guy Boothby
Looking back now, I can remember every situation about that day, as if everything had happened, but as clearly as it was yesterday. First, it was toward the middle of the day, and from then on the S.E. trade, which was blowing with lust, began to fade according to tradition. It rained down a slight downpour on the eve and now, standing on the porch of my station, looking out over the blue lagoon with its boiling surf fringes, I was lucky not only to have one of the best photos in the South Pacific, but also to be able to distinctly experience the sweet smell of frangipani flowers and wild limes in the woods wearing the slope behind me. I went to one end of the patio and watched a group of local girls tappa outside the nearest house and then the other and looked at my crowded copra barn and from there the bare shelves of the big chamber of commerce across the street...
