CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. But I shan’t try to stop you. As Mrs. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different.
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