The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. She recalled that day of the typhoon and the sloop crashing on the outer reefs. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person.
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