CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. Seconds went by, and the cannon fired just as Rhea descended upon Lucy. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. . . .
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