She bent down. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. At any rate she must see me. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard.
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