The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not.
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