‘Ah, non,’ exclaimed the husband. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. Sydney was watching her eagerly. “John, we should be getting out of here. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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