‘This idiotic female—’ ‘This imbecile has made me—’ ‘—made me lose my temper, and I—’ ‘—cut him with my dagger, and he is—’ ‘—damn near slit her throat!’ ‘—bleeding like a pig!’ ‘Whoa, whoa!’ stormed the captain, starting forward. All the same, I don’t admit it. She would take this one back with her. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. “I believe that he would bore me. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. CHAPTER I.
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