Mr. Even the stars were strangers. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. “Just think about what you are asking, John, please. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling.
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