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There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. The skipper obeyed, and in another moment, they swept through the narrow lock. “She doesn’t know. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. ’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely.
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