For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. Don't forget to cut out all effervescent water. I want to be whatever I can to you.
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