Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected.
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