She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. "Fifty now and fifty when I return. . . Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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