She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. “Yes, John. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. If only this man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing; the island would have been wide enough.
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