“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. It was not a difficult affair. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. ‘Nothing. He put an arm around her. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. A fortnight passed, then a month.
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