" "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. ‘You don’t know him. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. ” She stopped. But the young man with the orange tie remained in his place, disputing whether the body had not something or other which he called its legitimate claims.
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