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CHAPTER XXVIII. ‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. “Will he die?” she asked. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me.
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