Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. When he returned to Hong-Kong, there was a reply to his cable: "Hang on. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame.
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