She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. Sheppard uttered a piercing scream. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. This heroine ruled an island which (in the '80s) was rich with shell—pearl-shell; and she fought pearl thievers and marauding beachcombers, fought them with weapons and with woman's guile. The night was now profoundly dark.
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