On the Sunday afternoon I was asleep in my berth, the lower one, when the curtains were shaken by Raffles, who was in his shirt-sleeves on the settee. “Achilles sulking in his bunk!” “What else is there to do?” I asked him as I stretched and yawned. I noted, however, the good-humor of his tone, and did my best to catch it. -The Gift of the Emperor
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