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My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. " "What's that?" "Think it over," said McClintock, grimly. " "Done!" cried the old sailor. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play.
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