It was not possible for him to have been deceived. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. Fell to sin, did Martha. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think.
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