‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight.
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