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A single lighted lamp, turned low, was suspended from the ceiling of the raftered room, and through the open doorway which gave on to a little wooden piazza with a slight railing and small, shaky gate came the swish of the Watloon River. No moon was visible, but the stars were radiant and alive trembling with life.
He had had his day at that in South America, and as Jean Jacques Barbille had said, the water was swift and deep, and the banks of the Watloon high and steep! But Jean Jacques was unconscious of everything save a debt to be collected for a woman he had loved, a compensation which must be taken in flesh and blood.
From the steps at its river-door, a little ferry-boat took people to the other side of the Watloon, and very near just a few hand-breadths away was the annex where was the man who had jostled Jean Jacques.
He had had his day at that in South America, and as Jean Jacques Barbille had said, the water was swift and deep, and the banks of the Watloon high and steep! But Jean Jacques was unconscious of everything save a debt to be collected for a woman he had loved, a compensation which must be taken in flesh and blood.
A single lighted lamp, turned low, was suspended from the ceiling of the raftered room, and through the open doorway which gave on to a little wooden piazza with a slight railing and small, shaky gate came the swish of the Watloon River. No moon was visible, but the stars were radiant and alive trembling with life.
From the steps at its river-door, a little ferry-boat took people to the other side of the Watloon, and very near just a few hand-breadths away was the annex where was the man who had jostled Jean Jacques.
It was in the town of Shilah on the Watloon River that the bells boomed out not because he had encountered one he had ever known far down by the Beau Cheval, or in his glorious province, not because he had found his Zoe, but because a man, the man not George Masson, but the other met him in the way.
It was in the town of Shilah on the Watloon River that the bells boomed out not because he had encountered one he had ever known far down by the Beau Cheval, or in his glorious province, not because he had found his Zoe, but because a man, the man not George Masson, but the other met him in the way.
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