She could not recall his features. His image would not
rise before her. The memory of his face had passed completely from her
mind. It had never done so before, and she was scared. But she strove to
reassure herself with the thought that she must surely recognize him the
moment her eyes beheld him. It was but a passing weakness this, born of
her agitation. Of course, she would know him, and he would know her,
too, mightily though she felt she had changed during those three years
that they had not met.
She moved on as one in a dream, still with that nightmare of oppression
at her heart. The crowd of hurrying strangers bewildered her. Her
loneliness appalled her. She had an insane longing to rush back to her
cabin and hide herself. But she pressed on, on into the Customs house,
following her little pile of luggage that looked so ludicrously
insignificant among all the rest.
The babel here was incessant. She felt as if her senses would leave her.
Piteously, like a lost child, she searched every face within her scope
of vision; but she searched in vain for the face of a friend.
Later, she found herself following an official out into an open space
like a great courtyard, that was crammed with vehicles.
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