277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. ’ He called through the library door. Figg," said Jack. When she spoke, her lips twitched.
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