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She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. He came to her at once, and turning, walked by her side. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. “The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. Ah Cum patrolled the length of the boat innumerable times, but never letting his glance stray far from the gangplank. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth.
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