What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. He glanced up at the coachman. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes.
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