At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done.
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