A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Section 2. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. Sydney sprang up. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said.
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