It is not for myself I fear. ‘C’est ridicule. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. We leave this room together. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared.
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