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’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. "Do not—do not!" "He must!" thundered Jonathan, "or he goes to jail. "We work together no more.
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