“Quite different. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered.
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