And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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