The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. I am fairly well hardened in iniquity—your iniquity, Annabel—but I decline to have a husband thrust upon me. “He wants to settle something on you, I believe.
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