" "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. ’ He nodded. I hope this is all. You’re never going to believe this, by the way. One of the reasons why I decline to talk is this: that boy's punishment will be enough. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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