’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. Women who Dids, and all that kind of thing. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. “He will probably make a statement to-night. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs. ” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm.
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