She spotted her opportunity. \" He paused in awkward silence as they walked outside the red double doors. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. "I am innocent. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. I must break open the door. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. Mr. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. The Pursuit 425 XXV. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. 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.
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