Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture.
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