“Time for my Patience,” she said. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. \"The movie's not 'til eight o’clock, so we have plenty of time to get ready. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. He would stare at her intensely when he was certain his parents were not looking in his direction. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects.
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