"I'll tackle it to-night!" "But it's after ten!" "What's that got to do with it? … The roofs of the native huts scattering in the wind! … the absolute agony of the twisting palms!…. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. The will to live had returned. It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken.
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