"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. “I’m not the Devil. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. One must be on guard. My goodness gracious. ‘Now let’s have it. A forgotten island beyond the ship lanes, where that grim Hand would falter and move blindly in its search for him! From what he had read, there wouldn't be much to do; and in the idle hours he could write. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain.
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