Sebastian traveled at seventy, eighty, then one-hundred down the freeway. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. ‘I know, Melusine. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Jack's mouth was coarse and large; Darrell's small and exquisitely carved, with the short, proud upper lip, which belongs to the highest order of beauty. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. He was beautiful despite the odd angle. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her.
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