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The smoker twinkled. "You're different from Ned Ferry," he said.

"We smuggled it through!" chanted the trio, ready to weep for virtuous joy. And then they clasped arms like the graces, about their aunt, and let her speak.

"Borrowed!" echoed the sergeant. "If he doesn't own that mare no man does."

"Nor no woman?" I asked, and again across the back of my neck my two companions gazed at each other.

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I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

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