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What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. “He dissembles,” he said. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. “Our interest lies in heading them off. A friend of mine, Ogilvy’—I suppose that’s Ogilvy & Ogilvy, who do so many divorces, Vee?—‘was speaking very highly of it—very highly!’” He smiled into her eyes. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins.
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