"You have," rejoined Jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. 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. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. .
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