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” She turned away. A town called Foster. "She was mine before you ever saw her. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. Which is the nearest way to the river?" "Why, it's an awkward road to direct you," returned Jonathan. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back.
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