. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. “Of course it is, Anna. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred.
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