"She tells me there was a Kanaka cook; been in the family as long as she can remember. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself.
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