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Her father’s step quickened to a trot. It was true. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. "We work together no more.
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