The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. "I don't know," she answered vaguely. " "And I promise that all you tell me and show me will sink in," replied O'Higgins, frankly interested. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging.
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