All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Her body went into spasm. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. It was a mad half-hour. “There are policemen—and buses.
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