" "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. . ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. There!" Out of the dark unruffled sapphire of the lagoon came vertical flashes of burning silver, singly and in groups.
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