CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. Sebastian observed coolly, savoring the outline of Lucy’s feral figure hunching over Michelle’s gradually diminishing body. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. "You can generally understand that language. I’ll drive you home once my buzz goes away.
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