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“You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. She thought she had hidden well from him. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. Manning,” she said, “I HAVE a confession to make. “The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all.
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