Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. All these experiences have taught me a great deal about life and realities. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. “What a little brick!” he murmured. Wood. “Now, there, there. His brain reeled. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night.
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