The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother. ‘This, as you see, is an identity for your cousin, André Valade. ” She said. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. After a while one began to talk.
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