She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. He would have to return to Hong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set foot on the Praya. The blaze, however, was sufficient to reveal to the thief-taker the features of his intended assassin. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. 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. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. At that, the girl jumped up.
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