But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences. "Hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions.
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