“How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience.
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