Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. ’ A question leapt into Everett’s head and he recalled the letter to the Abbess. 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. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened.
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