” She looked away from him. "If we take him, I don't mind giving you a share—say a fourth—provided you lend a helping hand. To stumble upon the trail through the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so his bottle had rendered him conspicuous. He told some of the particulars. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous.
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