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 day by day more and more into the clutches of Fluffy; and to have quarrelled, most unreasonably, I admit, with Major Street because he couldn't stop it—all these things combined were enough to make the most cheerful person pessimistic, and to bring one to the conclusion that it was better that the human race should speedily die out. That was exactly what I felt those last few days in the Indian Ocean. Everybody's little peculiarities and idiosyncrasies that one had smiled upon indulgently at the start grew quite unpardonably blatant and absurd when one had seen them daily many days. And, of course, the most amazing people were always the most prominent. That's the way of life. The 'Pompous Man' paraded the deck much more than anybody else. You saw the untidy Duchess much more often than the other three, while the authoress seemed to be everywhere at once. She had a nasty habit of parading the deck at all hours of the day, doubtless taking exercise and making copy out of us at the same time in the two-things-at-a-time sort of way that would appeal to her bustling nature. If people who paraded the deck unseasonably only knew how the other people they passed and repassed loathed them; if the men only knew what absurd figures they had, and how badly their coats fitted them, and how baggy their trousers were at the knees; and if the women only knew how badly they walked, and how atrociously they put their clothes on, I'm sure they would be content to sit down much more and parade less. I don't want to condemn