But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. " "The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical as the yellow or the black. That’s my point. “I can tell you are thinking about it. "You see?" Ruth said. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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