That’s about the beginning. Suddenly a half stifled exclamation broke from Anna’s lips. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. “Why?” He inquired.
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