” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. “I MUST speak to you,” he said. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances. . He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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