He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. The morning swims in the lagoon had thickened the red corpuscle. "Do you think I'd part with the sweetest morsel of revenge on those terms? No! But I'll have the secret out of you by other means. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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