She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. He began to tell me something—and stopped. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon.
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