" "Beast!" For a little while they manoeuvred around the table. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. Brendon,” Anna said. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place.
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