“By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. He has no imagination, no real generosity. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck.
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