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There was a bluish tinge about her lips, and she had a trick of pressing one labour-gnarled hand to her breast. She curtsied quaintly. Paul greeted her with the charming courtesy which he observed towards everyone. "Mrs. Duveen, I believe? I am Paul Mario, and this is Captain Courtier, who has a message to give to you.
Barefooted, with no adornment of femininity, clad in a shapeless shift of much-washed cotton, with age-withered face and labour-gnarled hands, she cringed before him and crooned a mele in his honour, and, still cringing, put the lei around his neck. It is true the hala smelled most freshly strong, yet was the act beautiful to me, and the old woman herself beautiful to me.
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