Mirrors. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. ‘Talk to me another time. ” “Very romantic. The Dawn Pearl! To be with her constantly, with no diversions to serve as barricades! Damn McClintock for putting this thought in his head—that Ruth loved him! He flung himself upon the beach, face downward, his outflung hands digging into the sand: which was oddly like his problem—he could not grip it. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. .
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