It is a curious fact, though one we need not linger to discuss, that
while clothes are the very symbol and first demand of decency, few
things become so flagrantly immodest when viewed in themselves and
apart from use. The crimson rushed to Miss Limpenny's cheek.
She uttered a cry and looked around.
Inexorable fate, whose compulsion directed that gaze! If raiment
apart from its wearer be unseemly, how much more--
About thirty yards from her, wading down the stream, and tugging the
painter of his recovered boat, advanced Mr. Fogo.
To add a final touch of horror, that gentleman, finding that the damp
on his spectacles completely dimmed his vision, had deposited them in
the boat, and was therefore blind to the approaching catastrophe.
Unconscious even of observation, he advanced nearer and nearer.
Miss Limpenny's emotion found vent in a squeal.
Mr. Fogo, heard, halted, and gazed blankly around.
"How singular!" he murmured. "I could have sworn I heard a cry."
He made another step. The sound was repeated, more shrilly.
"Again! And, dear me, it sounds human--as of some fellow-creature in
distress."
"Go away! Go away at once!"
"Eh? Bless my soul, what can it be?" Mr. Fogo stared in the
direction whence the voice proceeded, but of course without seeing
anything.
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