. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. Lost ground must be regained. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, “I’ve promised to go. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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