The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. ‘I dare say the best plan will be for me to bring her to see you, after all. She rapped on Michelle’s door loudly.
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