The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends. Lad, I admire you even in your folly.
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