It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. It was. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. Come back—you must come back. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. They found a river pool and disrobed together as they had for hundreds of years. But also this must not go on.
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