” Lucy grew hot. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. I don't care how lonesome it is.
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