The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. .
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