The coconut plantation covered the west side. Well, I don't blame you on that ground. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. I'm always agreeable to the women, bless their kind hearts! Now! slip the purse into my hand. It needs cultivating, I think.
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