Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister’s side and took her hand. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. Then you may have a bit of a chance. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. She donned her gloves. I won't have a beachcomber on the island.
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