“Is it your maid?” he asked. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. One of the coolies held the paper lantern. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth.
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