"Then it is not too late to save him. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. "Often. ’ ‘Who were they?’ she asked abruptly.
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