She could not help but swoon a little. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “I was frightened then,” she declared. He gave her silence in return. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm.
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