PELLISSIER. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. A single glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived or died. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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