“You love some one else?” he repeated. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. You mustn’t do things like that. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist.
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