The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. ’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. The image did not move. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there. I am yours for the making over. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. The Tigress is second-hand, built for coast-trade. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it. " "Hum!" exclaimed Jonathan.
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