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THE ISLE OF SEVEN MOONS
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pitching over the great sea wall as they hurriedly stepped over the piles of bones at the entrance.

When they reached the spot where the path turned inland along the gorge, she stopped.

"Last Halloween at the Schaufflers', we told ghost-stories, but they were nothing like this. You should have heard Stella scream. If she'd gone in back there, you would have had to carry her out."

Spanish Dick was still in the shelter of the rock, the great earrings, and curly hair under the red bandana, falling over his face as he frowned over the refractory cards.

"I don' like that, Señorita. Again and again I deal them, an' this ace of diamonds—it is the islan' here—she turn up always between the dark lady an' the grinning knaves. You tell your uncle with the many whiskers, by San Mariano with the crooked back, to haul up that anchor damn queeck."