“I murdered them, John. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. “Why?” He inquired. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. Which were perfectly true, as Gerald was aware. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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