Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. Be so good as to come this way. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. She said there was no other way to get them to stop their constant screaming. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. Another picture slid across her vision. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger.
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