"Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. This happened after he ate.
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