Gwen made an inquiry, and, directed by Mrs. Gerald crossed back to the window. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. From the white beach the palms ran in serried rows quarter of a mile inland, then began a jungle of bamboo, gum-tree, sandalwood, plantain, huge fern, and choking grasses. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose.
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