She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. "There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in. You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills.
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