"One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered.
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