Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. Particles of bullet were embedded in Rhea’s large arm as she swung across the stones in her donated legs.
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