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org Section 4. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. “Sold again,” she remarked. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. “Nothing so base.

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