At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. ” She was silent. But native! She must watch out.
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