Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. It came to Ann Veronica that life was wonderful beyond measure. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying. After all, it was really rather funny. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things.
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