" When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by his own imagination, McClintock made a negative sign. " "Are you a real nurse?" "Yes. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. "Ah! I see. Death belongs to God, young man. He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage.
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