Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. “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. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. "Now—begin. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness.
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