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’ Captain Roding grinned. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban. “I want to find an address.
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