In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. He was now aided with a powerful implement, with which he soon contrived to make a hole in the wall. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. There's something human about you now. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. We aren’t worth it.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjIyMi4yMDggLSAxOS0wNS0yMDI0IDEyOjEzOjAyIC0gMTU2MTY3MTczMw==
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