It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. I went off to round up his wife. I offered him a hundred to watch Spurlock. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing.
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