"Your faults were the faults of circumstances. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. This year—I’ve got it badly. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. That’s the flat business situation. “So should you. ’ ‘We!’ said Hilary witheringly, and went off as Gerald laughed and turned back to the lady. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. Happy Birthday, then. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. But it doesn’t alter the situation. ” “He seems like such a nice boy. That’s my advice.
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