"Well, I'm glad she's spared this. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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