He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. We are off for a second honeymoon. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. Will you let me go out of this room?” “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow. ‘Ask him. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes.
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