There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried Mrs. He slapped his knee. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation.
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