All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity.
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