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"I don't quite understand." "That's your 'sensitive, artistic temperament,' as Mrs. Hand calls it. It must be awfully trying, though, not to be able to babble when you're pleased. It's such a relief to get it out of your system. I'd simply burst if I tried to keep quiet when I felt excited." Outside, the peaceful landscape was filled with a warm amber light, and this poured into the oak-paneled dining-room through three French windows which opened onto a close-shaven lawn. Dinner was at an end; Jaggard, the major's valet, butler and general factotum, had placed the wines before his master, and was now handing around cigars and cigarettes. All being concluded to his satisfaction--no easy attainment, for Jaggard, trained in military fashion, was very precise--he departed, closing the door after him. The warm light of the evening flashed on the polished table--Major Jen was sufficiently old-fashioned to have the cloth removed for desert--and lighted up the four faces around it with pale splendor. This quartette of countenances is not unworthy of a detailed description..

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"You are a coward in submitting yourself to the influence of this base assassin," cried Jen, enraged by the calmness of the young man. "And as an ungrateful man--do you want an explanation of that term?--you whom I have loved and brought up as my own son?" Judith cocked her blond head thoughtfully. "Mean!" cried Jen, in a tone of conviction. "Why! that Etwald is mixed up in this business also!" "Voodoo will not help the doctor," said he, quietly. "This is a civilized country, and we who inhabit it are above being influenced by such degrading superstitions. You believe in Voodoo; in Obi; let us see if such things will protect you.".