" "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. It reverberated in the silence. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. U. “What did it matter?” she cried. Sheppard.
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