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She drew it out with shaking fingers. "A sail?" said McClintock. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. ‘This is not a place for a man. It was his heart. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects.
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