The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. Kneebone, he took his departure. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. "What's the matter?" demanded Jonathan, harshly. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. Every one else does.
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