He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. After all, she was a consummate actress. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. That is a part of the show in Hong-Kong. They could not go on. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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