He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. He sprung out of the driver’s side and ran to her door. Yet the thing hidden within her called and called.
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