At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. His appetite was perfectly Gargantuan. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. You know—I worship you. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. ‘Soldier of fortune. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach.
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