There were electric and ice plants, and a great store in which one could buy anything from jewsharps to gas-engines. “Mr. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Mr. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre.
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