He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. He went over her features one by one in his mind. "Mr. What's it like, Joan?" "It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards.
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