Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. He could quite understand the daughter of Mr. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. In the interim, Jack advanced to the woollen-draper, and regarding him sternly, thus addressed him: "You have violated the laws of hospitality, Mr. I hope you won’t mind if I say first that I think it does me an extraordinary honor that you should think of any one like myself so highly and seriously, and, secondly, that I wish it had not been written. Yeah, I’m thirty-seven.
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