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It was at lunch when McClintock announced that in the mailpouch he had found a letter addressed to Howard Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so-forth. “Lighten up. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. . Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. ” Sheila snarled. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself. ‘Oh, ah. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her.
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