He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. ” He meditated. Mr. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. Ray did not pace, he just stood. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him.
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