His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “I don’t believe there is one. ” She seemed unmoved, but she did not look at him. ’ He frowned again. “Is that plain?” she asked. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave.
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