"She tells me there was a Kanaka cook; been in the family as long as she can remember. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Ran in the family. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing.
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