The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. No other white people within twenty miles. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. The veins in his throat and forehead swelled and blackened; his eyes protruded from their sockets, and stared wildly; a thick damp gathered on his brow: and blood gushed from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. Let him have his honeymoon. His car, a black Alfa Romeo, waited at the end of the subdivision.
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