” Sir John’s head bent lower and lower. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. “You poor little girl!” he cried. "All that you have been telling me, our old Kanaka cook summed up in a phrase.
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