" "But that's the point—I don't know. " "You're not come here to insult me, Mr. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. ” “You know, Mr.
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