Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. "I was born in the South Seas and I am on my way to America, to an aunt.
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