Prudence attacked her chicken wing. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. ‘No. You guys don’t fool around, that was one big Thanksgiving dinner. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. Every word you utter puzzles me.
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