Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. "The gentleman under the table," she answered. McClintock sent his yacht over for us this morning.
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