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’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. You’ve got to take what you can get. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. The beachcomber, the lowest in the human scale; and some day he would enter into this estate. He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. .
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