Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him.
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