One day Vardri hoped to take her along the sea-front towards the old
quarter of the town, where the fishermen and sailors lived, and where
she could sit on the stone parapet and look across the harbour, and let
the sea-air blow strength and vitality into her.
After all he told himself, life was good even if one were a vagabond.
Life with adventure, a little money, and love.
He burst open the door of Emile's sitting-room, and entered headlong.
The sun-blinds were all drawn, making everything appear pitch dark
after the blinding glare of the streets.
"I want some matches, Poleski! By luck, I've got some cigarettes. One
never has both matches and cigarettes at the same time." He had come
to a dead stop and stood staring.
"Fatalite! Fatalite! The gods are kind for once! If only I had known
you were here sooner."
The half-full box of cigarettes descended to the floor, and its
contents went in all directions, and he was kneeling beside her chair
and holding both her hands. It was Arithelli not "Fatalite" who smiled
back at him.
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