"You remember that starling, Sir Rowland," he said maliciously, "and what occurred on it, twelve years ago?" "Too well," answered the knight, frowning. He seemed to be thinking hard. There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. I came to the Beck’s house. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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