One could enter and leave by proa, but nothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. "Open the door, I say, or I'll burst it open. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words.
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