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Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. "Mint! Mint!" "Death and hell!" cried Rowland, making a furious pass at the carpenter, who fortunately avoided the thrust in the darkness; "will nothing silence you?" "Help!" ejaculated Wood, renewing his cries. There were swift actions, too: a Kanaka crawled out upon the bowsprit to make taut a slack stay, while two others with pulley-blocks swarmed aloft. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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