All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. They alighted at the restaurant, and stood for a moment in the passage looking into the crowded room. “Not at all. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. He walked unsteadily towards the door.
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