He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. He recognised this object at once. 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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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 16:27:28