” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places. "All right," he said. At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson.
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