“Do you see much that’s like England here?” he asked.
She smiled. “Not on Green Island, and not much in Willstown. But in Cairns—a lot. Vauxhall and Austin motor-cars parked in the streets, and politicians telling people to buy British, and the North British Insurance Company, and Tattersalls, and bank clerks in the hotel listening to ‘Itma.’ Even the newsboys selling papers in the street— ‘Read all about it.’ Listening to them with your eyes shut, they sound just the same. They used to shout exactly like that when I lived in Ealing.”
“Ealing’s the place near London where you lived when you were working, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. It’s a part of London, really—a suburb.”
“Are you going to live there again when you go home?”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I don’t know what I’m going
