Blix refused to allow Condy to help her in the least. She was
quite as active and strong as he, and clambered from rock to rock
and over the shattered scantling of the flume with the vigor and
agility of a young boy. She muddied her shoes to the very tops
scratched her hands, tore her skirt, and even twisted her ankle;
but her little eyes were never so bright, nor was the pink flush
of her cheeks ever more adorable. And she was never done talking--
a veritable chatterbox. She saw everything and talked about
everything she saw, quite indifferent as to whether or no Condy
listened. Now it was a queer bit of seaweed, now it was a group
of gulls clamoring over a dead fish, now a purple starfish, now a
breaker of unusual size. Her splendid vitality carried her away.
She was excited, alive to her very finger-tips, vibrant to the
least sensation, quivering to the least impression.
"Let's get up here and sit down somewhere," said Condy, at length.
They left the beach and climbed up the slope of the hills, near a
point where a long arm of land thrust out into the sea and shut
off the wind; a path was there, and they followed it for a few
yards, till they had come to a little amphitheatre surrounded with
blackberry bushes.
Here they sat down, Blix settling herself on an old log with a
little sigh of contentment, Condy stretching himself out, a new-
lighted pipe in his teeth, his head resting on the little handbag
he had persistently carried ever since morning.
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