Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. And you’d better have her fetch in some food for the missie, an’ all. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. To-morrow we'll raise our first island.
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