This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. " "Here you have it, my dear," returned the hawker. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound.
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