’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. “I don’t understand.
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