"The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. Julian had been working his way through college at a factory and was close to graduation. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. Stanley poured wine.
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