“Please stay,” she said briefly. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. Even as a child she observed how men were haunted 18 by the presence of her mother. CHAPTER XVIII.
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