He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. The twenty pounds burned with avidity. Ho-hum! CHAPTER IX The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage. He got off on it. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. "More than you'll pay for it, friend," snuffled the Jew.
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