Montague Hill, and I do not think that under those circumstances I should be long about it. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding.
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