Shari was snoring soundly. The completest capitulation would not wipe out that trouble. “He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell.
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