\" \"It's Diedermayer. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. 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. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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