“No, no, no. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. He classified her as he seated himself. " The Wastrel laughed. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. And besides—We’re going to live, Ann Veronica! Oh, the things we’ll do, the life we’ll lead! There’ll be trouble in it at times—you and I aren’t going to run without friction.
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