"Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. “So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. “Never was such an age of transition. I need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand.
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