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A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded.
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