“It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. ’ Melusine shrugged, and crossed to the plain door beside which hung a bell. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. 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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