They flash to and fro, they thrill us with expectancy. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners.
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