“He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. ‘You obstinate little devil. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. You shall have a house out at Balham or Sydenham, and two servants. There's a man dying—Captain Darrell. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny.
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