“I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. "I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn. " "Never," echoed Smith, emphatically, "upon my honour. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder.
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