‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. I do not care in the least. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. . “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. ‘Ah, well, we’ll check the back and then go home. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. Wily little devil she is. “My dear, you have learned the hard way what happens when you do not eat.
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