She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. uh.
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