He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. “You are positively eloquent to-night—both of you,” she declared. I do—with all my heart.
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