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’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder. " "Till midnight," replied Jack. ’ His face changed, all the humour and tenderness leaving it in an instant. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Just what it means. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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