"Is it poison?" she asked. . Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. White and Miss Ellicot laid each a hand upon his arm, one on either side.
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