The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. You want industry—you want steadiness. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds.
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