On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. I wish that it worked. " "No. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine.
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