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” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. . ” She said. She would never, never go back. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. ‘I’m following a scent. “Oh. Ramage. "Good bye, Jack! Keep up your spirits. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts.
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