Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. "Be it so," replied Jack. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. 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. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily. “It is not that. His fingers closed upon her hand. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer.
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