\"The way they smell,\" said Michelle. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire.
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