"Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge.
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