The tropical dawn is swift. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. “And somehow or other,” she added, after a long interval, “I must pay Mr. Pearls too! I mean it. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse.
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