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. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. He nodded. ” “You like me?” “Yes. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price.
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