But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. “I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. There isn't a nurse this side of Hong-Kong to be had.
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