It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. The world had not passed by but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. ” She smiled. ‘Because I love you. ” Ennison’s voice shook a little.
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