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The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. The air was thick with feelings. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady.
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