’ It is the Press who find her out. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. If he recovers he may not accuse her.
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