"Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. " "Pish!" cried Jack: "I don't value his anger a straw. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. ‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Nothing else matters. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis.
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