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Their flitting hands were always touching. “You are a miracle! God spares few from the Pestilence. "By Heaven!" cried Darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom I placed in such jeopardy a short time ago. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. Some one may observe us. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly.
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