He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself. "When it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered Wood.
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