There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. Both these ladies possessed considerable personal attractions.
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