‘Aye, that she was. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. “Nothing. My proposition is for you to keep an eye on him, and the moment he puts on his clothes to send me a telegram, care of the HongKong Hotel. The challenge gave her courage. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. I was at work at it yesterday and the day before. You get the idea. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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