" "Allow me to offer you a glass of usquebaugh, my dear," said Kneebone, turning from him, and regarding Edgeworth Bess with a stare so impertinent, that even that not over-delicate young lady summoned up a blush. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. It was Celeste’s idea. ” “Shirts?” “Shirts at one—and—something a dozen. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness.
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