She was so interested, and this was such a relief from the trudging anxiety of her search for work, that she went on for a whole week as if she was still living at home. She had not gone by the name Lucy during those years but instead had called herself “Mary Lucia Iovelli”. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. ’ ‘And if she can’t?’ asked Lucy.
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