” Lucy reflected. "These writer chaps are queer birds. Wood fancied he recognised. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. ‘Damnation! Too late. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash.
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