He called a waiter. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. I deal with the Malay mostly; but twice a year I visit islands occupied by the true blacks, recently cured of their ancient taste for long-pig. Only the next of kin. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. "Hist!" exclaimed Jack. She was quite unconcerned.
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