CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. It never has had. He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. "Amazement!" cried Wild. “Too greasy for me. Wood. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. "What's that?" asked Wild. Dolby smiled. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. “The most important is that I have a new admirer. ” His face darkened. You are a detective?" "Yes.
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