"I beg pardon," he said. . " "Run along, then. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. " She showed him the locket; and he studied the face. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. “Wow, congratulations, Martin.
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