McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. "The Dutchman was right, after all. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest.
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