She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. Tell me all that happened, one sister-woman to another. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Or appeared to do so.
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