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"I can," replied Trenchard. " CHAPTER XVIII. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. You’ll have to find someone else. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. Earles would permit. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. She tried to be casual.

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