“Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. "Never heard of a sing-song girl; never heard of a geisha! Flower of the Lotus: the sing-song girl called her that. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him.
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