She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night.
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