CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. Recurrently she heard: "I don't know; I really don't know. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin.
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