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The First Blow

           AssoonasIwasclearofthethicket,IranasIneverranbefore,scarcemindingthedirectionofmyflight,solongasitledmefromthemurderers;andasIran,feargrewandgrewuponmeuntilitturnedintoakindoffrenzy.

           Indeed,couldanyonebemoreentirelylostthanI?Whenthegunfired,howshouldIdaretogodowntotheboatsamongthosefiends,stillsmokingfromtheircrime?Wouldnotthefirstofthemwhosawmewringmynecklikeasnipe’s?Wouldnotmyabsenceitselfbeanevidencetothemofmyalarm,andthereforeofmyfatalknowledge?Itwasallover,Ithought.Good-byetotheHispaniola;good-byetothesquire,thedoctor,andthecaptain!Therewasnothingleftformebutdeathbystarvationordeathbythehandsofthemutineers.

           Allthiswhile,asIsay,Iwasstillrunning,andwithouttakinganynotice,Ihaddrawnneartothefootofthelittlehillwiththetwopeaksandhadgotintoapartoftheislandwherethelive-oaksgrewmorewidelyapartandseemedmorelikeforesttreesintheirbearinganddimensions.Mingledwiththesewereafewscatteredpines,somefifty,somenearerseventy,feethigh.Theairtoosmeltmorefreshlythandownbesidethemarsh.

           Andhereafreshalarmbroughtmetoastandstillwithathumpingheart.

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Roboto Lora
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