"Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. \"Oh my word, Mike. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. ’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy. 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.
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