They were bathing in the stream. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. Sebastian drank deeply and quickly of her blood. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. "I beg pardon," he said. “Of course!” he said.
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