Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. The island castle at Port Herculis had been part of the trade off, all to be kept as quiet as the circumstances of her second marriage and her “suicide”. “We do not want the men,” said Miss Miniver; “we do not want them, with their sneers and loud laughter. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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