Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. The simile started a laugh in his throat. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released.
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