Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. "I wonder how she picked up Kanaka? On her island they don't talk Kanaka lingo.
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