You certainly had to hand it to these Chinks. “How’s the star?” John’s father asked. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. But his daughter might well have a claim. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees.
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