Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. " "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. Her little white hand stole across the table. . The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre.
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