On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. “You must send for the police at once, you know. Better they should find the so-called Valade. Habits and tastes are no longer the same.
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