A remittance man. “I’d sooner condemn you to Hell. McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. They were followed by Mr. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards.
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