At that instant, as it seemed to him, the air was chilled and, looking askance towards the water, he saw a flying squall darkening and crisping suddenly the tide. Away! Away! The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. We are not this story#146;s author, who fills time and eternity with his purpose. But no other sound was in the air and the swallows whose flight he had followed with idle eyes were sleeping.
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