She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. “For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly. The barometer says nothing, neither the sky nor the water; the skipper has the "feel" that out yonder there's a big blow moving. For the young, immortality must seem promising, even wonderful! The grass is always greener on the other side. Nasty, damp passages. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue.
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