I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe.
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