He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. There would be no moon. "I could," replied Thames. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. Annabel set her teeth hard, and turned fiercely towards Anna. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. "I'll tackle it to-night!" "But it's after ten!" "What's that got to do with it? … The roofs of the native huts scattering in the wind! … the absolute agony of the twisting palms!…. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy.
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