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Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand.
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