"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel.
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