His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. ‘Kill him? Oh. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling.
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