Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. But it's French manners, I suppose. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. You come with those clear eyes of yours, as valiant as an angel.
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