The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. It was situated off a little hallway that led also to the kitchens and the back door to the outside.
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