Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. .
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