” She gestured to an abandoned farmhouse down a long stretch of icy dirt road. ” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. . Tears began to stream from her cheeks. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. ‘She wants me to marry her. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. "All right," he said. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling.
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