He waved a hand toward the sea. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. “You silly fool,” he said. She had come across the wicked South Seas which were still infested with cannibals; she had seen drunkenness and called men beachcombers; who was this moment as innocent as a babe, and in the next uttered some bitter wisdom it had taken a thousand years of philosophy to evolve.
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