‘Couldn’t reconcile it with my dooty to leave you here—’ A thought made Melusine stop dead, turning to him. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. In Europe or in America people would have smiled; but in Singapore—the half-way port of the world—where a human kaleidoscope tumbles continuously east and west, no one had remarked her.
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