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Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. I thought it better not to send him away till I'd mentioned the circumstance to you.
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