James Boyle O'Higgins knew little or nothing of the South Seas, but he knew human beings, all colours. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. The characters of the youthful occupants of the room might be detected in every article it contained. That blow made me a thief.
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