It was as if the forehead of Flora de Barral
were marked. Was the girl born to be a victim; to be always disliked and
crushed as if she were too fine for this world? Or too luckless--since
that also is often counted as sin.
Yes, I marvelled more since I knew more of the girl than Mr. Powell--if
only her true name; and more of Captain Anthony--if only the fact that he
was the son of a delicate erotic poet of a markedly refined and
autocratic temperament. Yes, I knew their joint stories which Mr. Powell
did not know. The chapter in it he was opening to me, the sea-chapter,
with such new personages as the sentimental and apoplectic chief-mate and
the morose steward, however astounding to him in its detached condition
was much more so to me as a member of a series, following the chapter
outside the Eastern Hotel in which I myself had played my part. In view
of her declarations and my sage remarks it was very unexpected. She had
meant well, and I had certainly meant well too. Captain Anthony--as far
as I could gather from little Fyne--had meant well. As far as such lofty
words may be applied to the obscure personages of this story we were all
filled with the noblest sentiments and intentions.
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