The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. From long experience with both races he had acquired definitions, but none snugly applied to this girl.
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