She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. "Seize this oar," vociferated the waterman.
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