" "Can I trust him?" mused Jack. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Instead of passing on, as Jack expected, these persons stopped opposite the cage, when one of them, as he judged from the sound, for he did not dare to look out of his hiding place, dismounted. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. “Ciao.
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