She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. ” She grinned. “I think that’s the right name. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding.
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