The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. We all get deceived sometimes. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. If you choose, you can see him put on board the Zeeslang yourself, Sir Rowland. He whispered in her ear.
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