"So that was it? And what the devil are you doing here, moping alone on the beach? Why aren't you with her in this hour of bitterness?" "What can I do?" "You can go to her and take her in your arms. " "A capital caricature that," remarked Thornhill, laughing. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. Her blood spurted into his mouth and he drank. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned.
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