“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. Stanley in person. I wanted the magic of love. I—listen. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay.
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