Purney's hand-writing," said Jack, advancing, "and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. I love my husband. There were no mourners.
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