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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Trail him," said the captain, "and take a man with you. If that fellow gets into trouble, you may need help." He stepped into his automobile and the sergeant beckoned to a nearby policeman. "Akana," he said, "we have a man-sized job tonight. Are you feeling fit?" The Kanaka smiled without enthusiasm. "The man of the red hair?" The sergeant nodded, and Akana tightened his belt.
"Rebirth is even more difficult than birth." Abel Ah Yo did anything but comfort her. "'Not until you become as a little child . . . " "If ever I tell my soul, it will be a big telling," she confided. "The bigger the reason to tell it then." And so the situation remained at deadlock, Abel Ah Yo demanding absolute allegiance to God, and Alice Akana flirting on the fringes of paradise.
Abel Ah Yo had not finished his preaching, but it was his gift to know crowd psychology, and to feel the heat of the pentecostal conflagration that scorched his audience. He called for a rousing revival hymn from his singers, and stepped down to wade among the hallelujah-shouting negro soldiers to Alice Akana.
Never was a more fearful and damning community narrative enunciated in the entire Pacific, north and south, than that enunciated by Alice Akana; the penitent Phryne of Honolulu. "Huh!" the first comers heard her saying, having already disposed of most of the venial sins of the lesser ones of her memory.
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