Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. Mrs. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took. 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. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it.
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