" "Plumb in the eye!" said O'Higgins, rising. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. When he returned, it was always the same. ” “I think,” Anna said, “that it was only his manner.
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