"I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. Then he got up and left her. ‘Again?’ Another simple parry. Manning. You know you don’t mean it. 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. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine.
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