The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia.
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