The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. His assistance came too late. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. "Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning.
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