We were only—les autres. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. She shook her head. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth.
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