Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil.
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