But he did not know it.
All the next day he thought of his fair visitor, and found himself often
repeating her odd remark that she was "not that kind of girl," with a
smile that was alternately significant or vacant. Evidently she could
take care of herself, he thought, although her very good looks no doubt
had exposed her to the rude attentions of fishermen or the common drift
of San Francisco wharves. Perhaps this was why her father brought her
here. When the day passed and she came not, he began vaguely to wonder
if he had been rude to her. Perhaps he had taken her simple remark too
seriously; perhaps she had expected he would only laugh, and had found
him dull and stupid. Perhaps he had thrown away an opportunity. An
opportunity for what? To renew his old life and habits? No, no! The
horrors of his recent imprisonment and escape were still too fresh in
his memory; he was not safe yet. Then he wondered if he had not grown
spiritless and pigeon-livered in his solitude and loneliness.
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