“Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. . These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. “About two years ago. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind.
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