Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. There was a third lady among the younger set. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. “But your hair,” he gasped.
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