Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. Gerald looked at it, then at her face.
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