That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. Operations then commenced. The Disguise 261 VI. Wood. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. At any cost! Her brothers had it practically—at least they had it far more than it seemed likely she would unless she exerted herself with quite exceptional vigor. . White calls them.
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