A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate.
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