“Dear husband,” she murmured. He proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for him by the ladder. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. But I have never seen America.
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