Queer world. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. Mrs. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. ‘Who have lately joined us,’ she said, adding sotto voce, ‘A very great tragedy. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness.
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