Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. Everything had so far come to pass as the withered old Kanaka woman had foretold. They had their little dreams about her. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. Fell to sin, did Martha. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. ‘But you will not be in a convent.
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