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‘Ah, the tragedy. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. If we fail,” said Capes, “then—” “We aren’t going to fail,” said Ann Veronica. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned.
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