’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. “Yes, mostly. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill.
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