“I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. . A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe.
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