“Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. 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. She was watching him intently. When the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady.
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