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326
Wednesday, November 21, 1928

The sound of the whistle came up through the heavy air, up to her, as she stood so many feet above.  The boat, of course, looked, from the great height, as any object appears, viewed through the wrong end of an opera glass.  Every detail was perfect, but it seemed so far away, that it was really removed.  She could remember how amazing the ballet dancers had looked through the glasses, when she had put them to her eyes wrong way around.  She had not realized then that she was still in the theatre.  But the sound, the coarse note of the whistle, which told the eager passengers that the boat was about to leave, came distinctly.

And the sound brought to her the remembrance of

327
Thursday, November 12, 1928

[[strikethrough]] They say that parting is to die a bit [[/strikethrough]]

It was early in the morning.  The sun had already risen, and the weird cool, blush of sun rise had already faded.  But the sun had not yet won the warmth, which was later to be so great a part of her, and the brilliance was not intense enough to cause Anne to turn her head away.  Later in the day, Anne realized, if she were to look into the sun with the same frank [[strikethrough]] ? [[/strikethrough]] gaze, she would have to [[?cover]], and would see a thousand little spots of green, and red, and blue, and black — a thousand imitation suns.  But now it was — not even gentle, not even soft brilliance, but rather the brilliance of smooth sheets of steel in sunlight.  The dew was not heavy on the grass, but as Anne walked across the lawn, she left the small hole — and — larger oval impression of a [[strikethrough]] foot [[/strikethrough]] shoe print on the fresh surface.  Harry, who walked beside her, took her hand, and,faltering for a moment, as an old man who hesitates before he puts a foot down to step ahead, [[strikethrough]] he [[/strikethrough]] suited his pace to hers.  Anne