‘Why did you kiss me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. What more was to be done? Frith’s investigations had proved fruitful, and the man was now keeping an eye on Valade. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. “I am frightened now. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say.
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