She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction.
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