"How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink. "But I happen to be an honest man myself. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her.
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