It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. I followed you in. “No!” she exclaimed. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. “Read this, John.
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