“Let me get you some water, Annabel. A check arrives in Batavia every three months. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. "He will kill me," cried Thames. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. "Nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly.
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