" "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. " "You are interested?" "In a way, naturally.
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