Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. Her blood spurted into his mouth and he drank. She were that miserable. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. And later they paddled in a boat above the mysterious deeps of the See, and peered down into the green-blues and the blue-greens together.
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