The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. The vengeance of the assailants did not stop here. The stench is everywhere. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. I have yet another.
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