‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. 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. Before I sit down, I have a toast to propose, which I am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent.
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