. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write.
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