He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. “You’re kidding, right?” “Not kidding at all. .
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