He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. No mercenary consideration influences me. "Suppose he does. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders.
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