"Oho!" he said. There came to Spurlock the recurrence of the grim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship was all he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she was exquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and sky and sail. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam.
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