He hesitated. Stanley took mustard savagely. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Not at all. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality.
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