If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday.
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