“Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. Always remember that. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. My boys are all Sandwich Island born. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are.
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