A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Wood strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying skiff. \"Thanks. ” “Then why,” Anna asked quietly, “do you run away? It is not like you. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls.
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