It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. The four tourists contributed varied sums: the spinsters ten cents each, the girl a shilling, the young man a Mexican dollar.
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