“Amazing. Earles scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully. Her desires were not for riches. Captain Hilary Roding and his inamorata, Miss Lucilla Froxfield. . ’ So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. "I am here, you see," said the smith.
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