They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. “Lucy. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. " "Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue.
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