Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. He hated himself a little for it. Ann Veronica jumped up to get her the cardtable. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon.
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