"Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. 1. I don’t know what has come over me. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Gerald crossed back to the window. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk.
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