The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “I don’t know where to go to. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. Brendon and I returned from the ‘Unusual,’ and found him lying in my room shot through the lungs. You care for me just a little, I know. " "A white wall is a fool's paper, Jack,—remember that," rejoined Wood.
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