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Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. His number was unlisted and unpublished. He would have to make sure of her silence. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. While the watermen were contending with the eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, Jonathan observed a perceptible shudder run through Trenchard's frame. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense.
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