CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried Mrs. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “But I’ve heard that he’s broken up with her three times in the past. They decided quite audibly, “She’s an Old Dear, anyhow. Show him no quarter, Poll.
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