Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. “Let me help you,” he begged. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. ‘It is pretty. “You remind me of a little blue stone I had once. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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