The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it. " He stared at the agitated curtain; and slowly his chin sank until it touched his chest. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent.
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