I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. He had done it. Is there anything you want?" She laid her hand on his forehead, and found it without fever. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. I somehow understood. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated.
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