Leave me behind: I'm not afraid. "He sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which I start," replied Jack. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. And listen, John. .
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