While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. He uttered a short laugh. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. No one spoke to her. “I shot him. "I beg pardon," he said. . All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. . Voilà tout, as Melusine herself would say. .
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