He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. Too much, perhaps. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. I could never make you understand. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water.
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