‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. The youth of them! And what was he going to do when they left his island? What would Donald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left the island, never more to return? Ruth was thrilling with joy. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river.
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