From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. ‘It is imbecile that you are. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. “It has been a delightful evening for me. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause.
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