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“Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. In Darrell's open features, frankness and honour were written in legible characters; while, in Jack's physiognomy, cunning and knavery were as strongly imprinted. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand.
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