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And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. It was horrible, but she must do it. " "Is he alive!" vociferated Trenchard. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose.

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