Diane Vorsack clicked her tongue in a “tsk”. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat.
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