The girl’s eyes never left his face. 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. The plank hung over his head. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. His face fell. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table.
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