" He patted her hand. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. " "I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. “Well?” he asked her tersely. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. You see—I didn’t understand.
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