” He said. 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 don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. "No; I don't think I'd laugh. But, Gerald, do you believe there is a secret passage indeed?’ ‘Well, we covered every inch of the house and grounds, and I swear she never left that room by way of the door.
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