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"No," replied Jonathan, moodily. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Melusine whirled. See paragraph 1. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. Stanley, “Mr. Dorling said. And you have stolen my dagger.
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