She could not speak. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. "She tells me there was a Kanaka cook; been in the family as long as she can remember. The young man desperately ill and the girl taking care of him! Of course, there could be only one ending to such a bout with liquor, and that ending had come perhaps suddenly but not surprisingly. How to hold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem with which he struggled. .
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