He fixed it. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. ” So that was it! “He came and talked to me. But I don’t wish to hear that abomination on her lips again. “Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. ‘Then he went stark staring crazy, if you ask me.
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