" "You shall not stir a footstep. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life.
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