It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. It wasn’t pretty. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. Hugging them, they crept stealthily around the house, Major Alderley leading, and wasting—so his captain acidly commented—a deal of time checking the windows and doors.
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