If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. "Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion.
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