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Various

"The Best Short Stories of 1921 and the Yearbook of the American Short Story"

Staring
at the transfigured flesh, she delighted in this conversion of herself
into a beautiful monster.--
Suddenly the sea spoke in her blood, as the gossips had long prophesied,
or something very like it. Lying with her golden head in her arms, the
splendid shoulders lax, she felt a strong impulse toward the water shoot
through her form from head to heel at this wet contact with the naked
earth. She felt that she could vanish in the tide and swim forever.
At that moment she heard Peter's step, and sprang to her feet. She could
not be mistaken. Marvelous man, in whose arms she had lain; fatal
trespasser, whom her father had sworn to kill for some vileness in his
nature. What could that be? Surely, there was no other man like Peter.
She interpreted his motions no less eagerly than his lips.
The sun sank while they stared at each other. Flakes of purple darkness
seemed to scale away from the side of the crag whose crest still glowed
faintly red. It would be night here shortly. Deep-water Peter gave a
great sigh, fumbled with his package, and next the string of pearls
swayed from his finger.
"Yours," he uttered, holding them toward her.
Silence intervened. A slaty cloud raised its head in the east, and
against that her siren's face was pale. Her blue eyes burned on the gems
with a strange and haunted light.


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