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" Blueskin, meanwhile, having drained and replenished his glass, commenced chaunting a snatch of a ballad:— Once on a time, as I've heard tell. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. “I have heard these things from you before, and you have had my answer. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own.
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