He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. . E. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come.
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