“Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. When he was given the telegram he flew to the Praya, engaged the fast motorboat he had previously bespoken against the need, and started for the Macao Passage, with the vague hope of speaking The Tigress. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another. But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. " "And leave you thus?" rejoined Jack.
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