"Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. Under happier circumstances nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have offered you a home with your sister. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “No, no,” she cried. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast.
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