He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Turning now, and running down the terrace. I’m very resourceful, you know. “We should get out of here. They were both dressed in every respect alike. For a few moments Mr. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors.
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