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On the sixth day, however, they made the strong southwest trade, and broke out the canvas, stout if dirty; and The Tigress answered as a bird released. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host.
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