Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. “I will tell you when to stop. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded.
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