A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. His sister appeared. It was nothing like the big church wedding she wanted, but nothing could shame her greater than to have a child out of wedlock. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. "Get ready the irons, Caliban.
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