’ ‘I presume you were not with her in France?’ Kimble stared. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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