He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. “Indeed!” Anna answered indifferently. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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