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Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. He could not know about the Remenham connection, could he? No one knew but her father and Martha. Shalford says—the accidental conquering the essential.
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