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It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. ” She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive movement. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. ’ ‘Yes, well, I was too young to see it,’ the captain said, tying a knot in his makeshift bandage. Certain reserves went down on both sides.
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