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The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to take it.
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