He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. The will to live had returned. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds.
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