“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. “This party must be so boring for you. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me.
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