” She said, frozen to the floor where she stood. “If you say so, Lucy. " Thames turned away at the question, which he felt might be construed into a reproach. He's coming. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. He declined to come in. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over.
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