"Certainly," replied Jonathan, with the most perfect sangfroid, "I'll undertake to free you from the boy. You go home and wait a century, Vee, and then try again. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. 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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