During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. Wood the best of wives. The last piece was Scheherazade.
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