“I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. They were the same.
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