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All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. In an instant, she turned on him. Drawing his hanger he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon those most in advance, and made an attempt to seize their leader, in whom he recognised Blueskin. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck.
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