"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. In short, every contrivance that ingenuity could devise was resorted to by this horde of reprobates to secure themselves from danger or molestation. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. So the charge was dismissed. That's why I'm so anxious to get her to a haven. See paragraph 1.
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