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But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. ” “Well, tell me.
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