It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. "She tells me there was a Kanaka cook; been in the family as long as she can remember. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
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