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The cry came, in laughing accents, from three or four Camp Fire Girls lounging upon a milk-white beach, absorbed in the occupation of another of their number, whose wet paint-brush dripped sky-beams upon the 长沙桑拿会所爽记 sands–blue sky-beams that winked dazzlingly 长沙桑拿网 in the August sun, as if filched from heaven’s own

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arch above.

“Original! About as original as Sara herself! Nobody else would think of it! A humble little dory that doesn’t go more than a mile from shore, and couldn’t come in on a sea-chase of any kind!

“How–how do you know what she’ll come in on?” The artist swung her azure-dripping brush, contemplating her dory’s dazzling side, as she lazily replied to her companions’ further comments. “How do I know what I’ll come in on myself? Queer times these–war-times! I shouldn’t be surprised, some fine morning, to find myself scouring cloud-land as a sky-skimmer, or–or—-Now! where did I see that face before?

“Not on this beach, anyway. He’s the first man I’ve noticed around here. Goody! I welcome the sight of him.”

It was Arline Champion, 长沙桑拿哪里好推荐 Sara Davenport’s oldest friend, 长沙桑拿 and closest chum, who spoke, digging in the sands with the

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toe of her tan boot, as she darted a demure glance along a rainbow bridge of sunbeams in pursuit of a prepossessing pedestrian who had passed at the moment upon the extreme edge of the beach where the white sands gleamed through sunlit tide-ripples, like milk in a golden vase.

“Well! wherever I’ve seen him, I’ve seen him. And, what’s more, he has run across me before, too! I felt the thrill (now, which of the colors shall I daub her with next, sky-blue, white, or dark slate?) the thrill that shot from one to the other of us when he passed. ’Twas more than the mere shock of surprise–admiration–of me and my three paint-pots.”

The impressionist artist, Sara, laughed–she who was reproducing, or trying to, with many a glance at the horizon, the dazzling light and shade 长沙桑拿场子推荐 of this August day in great bold smears upon her small boat’s

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side–the magical, baffling tints of sky-blue sea, dark, shadowy wave-hollows, white noonday light–to reproduce them as she saw them.

“Why, he was almost on the point of twirling his little mustache, when he first shot a sidelong glance at me–and such a start as he gave!”–the paintress went on. “He caught himself up just in time. If one’s to judge by his dress–sportsman’s suit–he’s not of the class to be rude, exactly.”

“Pshaw! What man living mightn’t be betrayed into twirling his mustache over a camouflaged dory: a little boat all smeared–like a Merry Andrew–with sky-blue, white, and splashing dark spots? Perfect clown! He couldn’t be mortal and not be amused. I wonder he didn’t smile outright as he passed.”

It was an older girl who spoke, a girl whose 长沙桑拿微信 clear white skin was now slightly tanned, whose dark eyes held a golden spark in their depths, lit by the thrill of her response to the blue-and-white beauty of the August day about her–a response even more elastic than that of her companions.

“Smile! Pshaw! I’d have liked it better if he had smiled. I’d have liked it better if he had–even–spoken! Now–now you needn’t get off ‘tut, tut!’ Olive, in your character of Assistant Guardian; I’ll say it for you.” Sara’s dancing flame was saucy as she rinsed her camouflaging brush in the tide, then dipped it into a dazzling pot of white paint standing beside the blue. “What I mean is that if he had spoken, or–or merely smiled a little, I might”–musingly smearing on the paint–“might have remembered, all of a sudden, where I’ve seen him before…. Now–’twill haunt—-”

“Whe-ew! Fancy 长沙桑拿攻略2018 Sally Davenport, shadow-haunted, ghost-haunted!” Olive burst into a low laugh.

“Oh-h! We know that no ghost fazes you, not even the ghost of chlorine gas. You don’t knuckle under to it!”

The kneeling artist slapped her brush suddenly against her dory’s side, drew it vehemently across the bow in a great white, dazzling smear, then turned impulsively and gazed along the still more dazzling beach upon which the stranger had passed, her gold-tipped eyelashes twinkling, her brown eyebrows drawn together hard, as if thought were dipping a paint-brush into some camouflaging pot of memory and trying to produce a picture–trying with all its might.

But the only result was a vague smear. Sesooā, to give her her Camp Fire name, turned again to her boat-painting, with a baffled sigh–and to her occasional studious glances at the horizon.

“I 长沙桑拿论坛体验 think I’ll take the camp skiff and row over to the Bar,” she remarked presently. “I might get a few new impressions of how sea and sky and wavy horizon look from there–a broader view of the ocean.”

“You’ll have a hollow impression if you go before dinner,” Olive Deering laughed. “What on earth put this whim into your brain, Sara, of painting your little dory up as a harlequin–a freak?”

“Freak! Harlequin! Well, maybe so. But I’m only putting her into the motley uniform of the high seas, at present, because–because Iver gave her to me. I wouldn’t let anybody else–another soul–touch a paint-brush to her, though.”