ABSTRACT
The noisy high street had a row of Chinese stalls on each side of it; salesmen with little almond-shaped eyes and long pig-tails were selling tea, fruits and cakes. Under all their verandahs were heaps of crowns of flowers, crowns of pandanus and tiarés scenting the air; the Tahitian women were wandering about singing; numbers of little lanterns, in the Chinese fashion, lighted up the booths or hung from the leafy boughs. It was one of the holiday evenings of Papeete; everything was gay and, above all, unique. The air was heavy with queer Chinese odours—sandal-wood and monoï, and the rich fragrance of gardenia and orange-flower.
