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She came into the room. He reached over and took her hand. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. ‘It were that there major, miss. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. “My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm.
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