She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. John moved closer to her, getting up from his roost by one bench, he joined her at the bench where she sat. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure.
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