There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. “There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. I’ve been wondering where she got her dogged will, and that hot-headed adventurous spirit, for it wasn’t from either Mary or Nicholas, that’s sure.
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