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The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. ” Lucy commented as the mud was smoothed around the grave site. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. "Or trying to be," answered the doctor. “Yes. A sinister thought edged in. "What should I do here alone if I were an enemy? But, come, don't let us waste time in bandying words, when we might employ it so much more profitably. You understand me, I’m sure.
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