On his third visit to the island she had surprised him, that is, she had glanced up suddenly and caught the look of the beast in his eyes. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. And now YOU’RE on the war-path.
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