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The latter began to heave himself up from the sand. Perhaps I am still mad. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. He turned to Mrs. " "There's no hurry.
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