The stranger with a bow returned to his table. Heaven alone knows why. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. I ought never to have thought of it. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. "Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge.
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