"You will not make it valueless in my eyes," he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her.
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