” “Isn’t it enough that I love you? Turn me now. I was born on an island in the South Seas. The transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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