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He classified her as he seated himself. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He was as hard as a rock. "I'm surprised you've not asked that question before, Sir Rowland. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. She despises one-piece swimsuits, she calls them ‘old hag bathing dresses’ no matter how low-cut they are.

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