The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. ” He glanced over at her cockeyed, and then returned his gaze to the road. “We will convince him now to the contrary,” Annabel answered. “There’s no one here except me. But men of the Spurlock type, who walk straight, who are unobtrusive and intensely pale, they break swiftly and inexplicably. It's of no use.
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