She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. “I’m thirsty. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned.
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