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This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. "I eat for both. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. “Don’t come nearer!” she said.
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