It is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. ‘You are there. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room.
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