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Again a voice whispered, and a low sound of discreet knocking followed. Joicey sprang up and called out hoarsely: "Who is it?" "Sahib, Sahib" the Durwan's whine was apologetic. "Is the Sahib awake?" "Who wants me?" "Leh Shin, the Chinaman." Joicey wiped his face with his handkerchief and pulled open the door with a violent movement. "Come in," he said, trying to speak naturally.
Something shuffled on the stone veranda, another sound, and sound was of value to Craven Joicey, since it made a vital note in the circling numbness around him. He could hear whispering voices, and the thump of the Durwan's stick, as that musically-minded man walked round to the back of the house, where his lighted window showed that Craven Joicey did not sleep.
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