Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness.
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