I never made any effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to light fearlessly on my arms and shoulders. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. In fact, the whole face had undergone a transformation. “What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow.
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