It was Blueskin. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. “It’s the spring,” he said. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Sometimes ships would stop three or four days for water and repairs; and the men would carouse in the back room at Morgan's. She was rash and ignorant, absolutely inexperienced.
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