The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. Her moods were many and always striking. Not then. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. However, I've not told you all; for old Van did say something about the child saving his new-found friend's life at the time of meeting; but how that's to happen, I'm sure I can't guess. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily.
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