Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Stanley. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that I can see. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. Doesn’t know where he is, thought the captain. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom.
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