The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. This is a mere boy. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Don't be afraid. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me.
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