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CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. O'Higgins did not confide in me. ‘Again you seek to interfere in my affairs?’ ‘I did warn you I had every intention of doing so,’ said Gerald. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. It was, in a way, something of a joke to the doctor: psychology and physiognomy on an island which white folks did not visit more than three or four times a year, only then when they had to. ‘Gérard is not mad, only of a disposition entirely interfering. “It was fine and brave of you. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home.
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