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THAMES DARRELL. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. Ruth loved him. Diving towards it, he tried to press against the rivulet that was seeping from it, hampered mightily by Melusine’s fingers, which were grasping at his other hand. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive.
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