I casually let this information drop as our concierge drives us through the resort in a buggy, a frangipani flower tucked behind his ear. He promises to fix the bug problem and drops us off at the lobby.
We walk the gangplank together, locked arm in arm.
Thus One / Jovial his Mate bespoke; O Friend, observe, / How gay with all th'Accoutrements of War / The Britons come, with Gold well fraught they come
No, I will not—remain then an ignoramous! for I never should rest in peace by a bright fire, at your own fireside, or inhale the sweet scented blossoms in your bowery, till you attained to the knowledge of every rope attached to a ship—you monopolizer of hearts! every coil of your dark hair adds another link to your train of admirers!
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