Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. For a time she promenaded the room. . "It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously. “I’m not in the mood right this instant. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet.
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