It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. She still had her letter of credit. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to go beyond her depth because of the sharks. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it.
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