“It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared.
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