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" The Wastrel laughed. ” “Annabel is a prophetess,” he declared. For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour. Little more’n a week. Annabel entered. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard.
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