” “But I say, Vee,” said Constance, “if you come and you are forbidden to come there’ll be the deuce of a row. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Stanley went on, “but there are things— there are stories about Ramage. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. 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.
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