At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. This, then, must be the person whom he had seen spring upon the western platform at the time of the collision between the boats. "What in the world is it?" he asked. “Guineas, of course,” Mr.
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