But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. Born on a South Sea island, she said. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head.
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