'—'They can't,' says I. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. O'Higgins and I landed at Copeley's yesterday; and Mr. Lucy marveled at the billiards table and the sauna. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to go beyond her depth because of the sharks.
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