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The Oriental waterfronts were rank with the stuff. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. Certainly I never met him. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. Please to release me. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit.
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