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Malet, Lucas, 1852-1931

"Deadham Hard"

Damaris
was first to move. She put the letter back into the breast-pocket of
her jacket.
"I am glad you know, Colonel Sahib," she gravely said. "You see how
difficult it has all been."
"I see--yes"--
After a pause, the girl spoke again.
"I only came to know it myself at the end of last summer, quite by
accident. I was frightened and tried not to believe. But there was no way
of not believing. I had lost my way in the mist out on the Bar. I mistook
the one for the other--my brother, I mean, for"--
Damaris broke off, her voice failing her.
"Yes," Carteret put in gently, supportingly.
He leaned back, his arms crossed upon his breast, his head carried
slightly forward, slightly bent, as he watched the softly sparkling line
of surf, marking the edge of the plunging waves upon the sloping shore.
Vicarious shame claimed him still. He weighed man's knowledge, man's
freedom of action, man's standards of the permissible and unpermissible
as against those of this maiden, whose heart was at once so much and so
little awake.


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