She had never had a real doll. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly. After all, it was really rather funny. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. Then, as Ramage readjusted himself in a corner, he remarked: “These young people shoot up, Stanley.
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