Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. "What has caused this quarrel, Thames?" asked the little girl, anxiously. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind.
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