The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop.
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