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As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. They crossed the Channel in sunshine and a breeze that just ruffled the sea to glittering scales of silver. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. On these were thrown all the horrible contents of Jonathan's museum, together with the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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