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The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. That’s got his nerves to rags. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment.
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