"Look at him!" Ruth looked. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. My boys are all Sandwich Island born.
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