The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. She kept thinking she was thinking about Mr. “Well——” She stopped short.
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