This too shall pass. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. " Her island! How well he knew it, thought Spurlock, for all he lacked the name and whereabouts! Suddenly a new thought arose and buffeted him. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better.
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