Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. Besides, I do not want a price on my head. She nodded. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. " "Be silent dog," cried Jonathan.
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