She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. Let’s go on climbing now. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. Lucy's ears were singing. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it.
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