‘Bête,’ she flung at him. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. It is better that you go away now, I think. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave.
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