Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. How provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never can find a thing when one wants it.
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