‘I must get a handkerchief. but then I made the mistake of testing it indoors. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. The door was opened, and Austin entered the cell, when he absolutely recoiled before the spectacle he beheld, and could scarcely have looked more alarmed if the prison had tumbled about his ears. "No!" she cried. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait.
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