He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. There are way-stations—even terminals. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. He seemed to be about to move toward her. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. " "What's he know about copra and native talk?" "Nothing, probably; but I'll wager he'll pick it all up fast enough. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. ” He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formal statement. “I think you are getting to understand me better.
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