She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. Her little white hand stole across the table. "She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. “Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. " He summoned another "boy" and rumbled some Cantonese.
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