CHAPTER XIV. “It was my sister Anna. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. ‘It is not easy. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep.
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