Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. A very small settlement, mostly natives. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language. " "Permit me to see it, Sir James!" requested Jack. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. Lucy inhaled deeply. As he anticipated, he was here comparatively screened from the fury of the wind; and when he gazed upon the roaring fall beneath him, visible through the darkness in a glistening sheet of foam, his heart overflowed with gratitude for his providential deliverance.
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