“I was sick of the make-believe. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. ” “I thought you would find that out. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms.
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