"So I have," replied Hogarth, glancing at Sheppard. ” Resigned, she rosined the bow and tightened the loose strings. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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