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“Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. ‘Come, cry a truce. I am used, you understand, to guard my secret. She was amazed that at over sixhundred years old that she could miss her parents so bitterly. Partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. “I promise, Lucy.
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