He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances.
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