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"It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. "Silence!" returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; "and don't muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said.
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