One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. She cursed herself for a fool. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. “But your hair,” he gasped. Certainly you have a reason. \"Oh. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. I was compelled to run away. Annabel was in hiding all the time. ” Again that curious smile which puzzled him so much parted her lips for a moment. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards.
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