His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. “Men’s waists are neither here nor there; A man scores always, everywhere. ’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. After all, Hilary must be near returned by now.
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