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CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. ” “Straight?” “Not a bit of it! He’s been out after eight per cent. " "One word before I go," urged Blueskin. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped.
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