“I cannot part with you. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. Ice had begun to form in the shallows. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. I don’t know. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans.
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