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We landed at the capital, and as we walked up the street to our hotel familiar forms emerged from the shops on the right and on the left. These friends all accosted us with eager questions —

‘Donde estan las muchachas?’ (Where are the girls?)

‘Donde esta Maud?’

‘Donde esta Lucia?’

We were obliged to say that they were not with us, and the blank, disappointed faces showed that we, the elders, counted for little in the absence of ‘metal more attractive.’

After a short stay at the capital, we reembarked for Samana, where we passed some weeks of delightful quiet in a pretty cottage on the outskirts of the little town. On the evening of our taking possession, I stood at the door of our new abode, watching the moon rise and overtop two stately palms which formed the immediate foreground of our landscape. On the left was the pretty crescent-shaped beach, and beyond it the lights of the town shone brightly. This was a foretaste of many delightful hours in which my soul was fed with the beauty of my surroundings.

Our cottage was distant about a mile from the town, which my husband liked to visit every morning. It was possible to go thither by the beach, but he preferred to take a narrow bridle

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Samana (Dominican Republic) (1)

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