There was only one sound—the fall of the sea upon the main beach, and even that said: "Hush! Hush! Hus-s-sh!" Not a leaf stirred, not a shadow moved. Lucy followed. Your name. “Cheveney!” she repeated. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. Even our coarseness.
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