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So, you see—’ ‘Do not say any more,’ Melusine uttered, flinging away and moving to the fireplace. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. . She recalled that day of the typhoon and the sloop crashing on the outer reefs. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. " "Oh! name it. "A good idea!" exclaimed the carpenter.
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