He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. “My word holds,” she said. "In Canton. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. The Dawn Pearl. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. The man’s as obstinate as a mule.
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