He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. " "Thames Ditton—is that your name?" "No," replied the boy, impatiently; "Darrell—Thames Darrell. The Master of the Mint. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. “You seem to have come from Miss Pellissier’s rooms. 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.
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