I cannot explain beyond that. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness.
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