It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. The morning swims in the lagoon had thickened the red corpuscle. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher. Sydney was watching her eagerly. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window.
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