"I have had Kanakas who could read and write in Dutch, and English, though. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII.
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