She leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. He perceived clearly enough, that the chase was moving quickly; and he was also aware, from the increased rapidity with which the oars were urged, that every exertion was made on board to get out of the reach of her pursuers. I want to be with you. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly.
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