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"I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. The smile had become a laugh. I don’t want you to be sad. And you need not fear that I shall not give back the sword when I have finished using it. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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