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CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. “You seem to forget that my sister is—married. Admire her as much as you choose—at a distance. People who would not go. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes.
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