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"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. " "Suffer me to proceed," replied the stranger. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning.
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