Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. She became angry with herself. F. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. In the beginning it was a dictionary.
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