From the white beach the palms ran in serried rows quarter of a mile inland, then began a jungle of bamboo, gum-tree, sandalwood, plantain, huge fern, and choking grasses. And this shall be your diet till you die. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously.
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