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“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. “I knew I should have died!” She went fast into a state of shock. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. ’ The old man simply stared at her. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I.
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