"He left an envelope with some money in it. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. And stony broke. He said the place had gone to wrack. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service.
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