In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. "Take this key to Baptist Kettleby. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. "You two will have this island by the ears," he said, wiping his eyes.
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