CHAPTER XX. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. 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.
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