A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. He looked at her in some embarrassment. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. Lonesomeness isn't my worry. "Don't fire," cried the latter. "What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. . E. "The poor things!" The manager laughed. And I suppose it is too much to expect that any entirely English young lady would be prepared to tolerate me for the remainder of my life.
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