“Your mother was a Gypsy. To-morrow I am going to Paris. I don’t know anyone. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre.
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