McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. Holding the lamp over her rigid but beautiful features, Jonathan, with some anxiety, placed his hand upon her breast to ascertain whether the heart still beat. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. You haven’t had it on your mind all this time?” “I have rather.
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