If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. But you belong to me—and I want you. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. 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. Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room.
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