The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. The idea of leaving for Mexico had become unbearable, as he was so easy to like and perhaps even easier to love.
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