’ He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of papers. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. “Was I that bad?” He asked. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Her patience was waning fast. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. Be on your guard.
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