She was quite unconcerned. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. " "Peace!" retorted Jack, with increased bitterness. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents.
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