This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. 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. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed.
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