" CHAPTER V. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. " "Well, take a chair," rejoined Kneebone. “Confound your lover! Look here! Do you really think I am going to run you while he makes love to you? No fear! I never heard of anything so cool. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things.
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