“I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Yes, there was someone there. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. They flash to and fro, they thrill us with expectancy.
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