He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. "My child!" he groaned faintly. The air was crisp and dry. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. .
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