The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. “What are you doing?” he asked. ” “You—you did what?” Anna exclaimed. "Tell me, what did they call you?" "Well, the old Kanaka cook used to call me the Golden One, but the natives called me the Dawn Pearl. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. .
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